


The World Stood Still

by stardust_and_sunlight



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, M/M, Slice of Life, and i'm sure there will be more background relationships too, but it's still early days, modern studies teacher Enj, no plot just vibes, physics teacher Cosette, probably all the characters will be here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24643399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust_and_sunlight/pseuds/stardust_and_sunlight
Summary: “Call me Enjolras,” he said, as Grantaire turned back to him.“What made you get into teaching modern studies to disaffected teenagers?” Grantaire asked, and Enjolras was startled into a laugh.[Enjolras is Gavroche's high school modern studies teacher, Cosette is his physics teacher. Grantaire and Éponine are Gavroche's legal guardians. Chaos ensues.]
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Woohoo here we go! I've never written a chaptered fic before, and certainly never posted anything when I didn't know where I was going with it. Exciting!
> 
> First important thing: it's set in Scotland because I know how the school system works here. Gavroche is in second year at high school, so he's 13, and he's still doing all of the subjects. He'll choose what subjects he wants to take to an exam level at the end of second year.
> 
> Second important thing: I'm going to give them all surnames and make the canon surnames their first names, just because their friends and the kids they teach cannOT call them the same name.
> 
> I'll add more relationship and character tags as they appear!
> 
> Title is from I Kissed the Teacher by ABBA and the only reason I didn't call it that is because I try to have a little class.
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated, and I hope you enjoy!

Enjolras stretched, leaning back in his seat and sighing deeply. He loved teaching, and he loved seeing the teenagers learning and caring despite themselves, finding things that interested them, but he _detested_ parents’ night. He understood the need for grades and tests and assignments that were marked but he wished fervently that parents would ask him “what’s her favourite thing to study?” or “what does he like to learn about?”

He’d had two hours of talking about grades and performance and of parents telling him that he was the reason their kids were doing badly, that it wasn’t because they were little shits, and he was ready to go home. He had two meetings left, only two, and that thought alone made him smile up at the next couple who arrived at his tables.

“We’re here to discuss Gavroche Thénardier? I’m Éponine Thénardier, and this is Grantaire.” Enjolras could see the resemblance immediately. The woman speaking had the same dark skin and tight curls as Gavroche did. The man with her was attractive in an unconventional way, with a crooked nose and a lazy smile.

“Yes, of course, sit down,” Enjolras said, gesturing at the seats in front of him, and picking up his relevant piece of paper.

Éponine also had a notebook and a pen out, which pleased Enjolras. He liked to see parents talking their children’s lives seriously. Grantaire was slumped in his chair, looking vaguely around, seeming distracted and disengaged. Enjolras looked back at Éponine.

“His grades have been good in all of the unit tests we’ve done, and he seemed to have a special aptitude for the mock debates we’ve attempted so far.”

Grantaire snorted a laugh, and Éponine nudged him with her elbow, stifling her own smile. “And his homework?”

“When I do get it on time, it’s well researched and well written.”

“When you get it?” Éponine asked, frowning.

Enjolras sighed. “It’s often late, and occasionally so messy as to be illegible. And his attitude when asked about it leaves a lot to be desired.”

Éponine raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“He’s very defensive about it, never giving a good reason. He also can be fairly disruptive in class.”

Éponine nodded, not looking very concerned, so Enjolras pressed on.

“As the children get to the stage where they’ll start picking subjects and sitting proper exams, we really do want to encourage them to try a bit harder, and especially not negatively impact other’s learning experience. Gavroche seems very intelligent, but some of the other pupils won’t pick things up the way he does.”

Éponine nodded again, jotting something down on her notepad, and then got to her feet. “Well, thank you for your time. R, I think it’s the physics teacher next, and then that’s us. You coming?”

Grantaire shook his head. “I have another question for- Mr Tourdot, is it?” Enjolras nodded, and Éponine rolled her eyes, poking Grantaire on the shoulder before heading off to the maths section.

“Call me Enjolras,” he said, as Grantaire turned back to him.

“What made you get into teaching modern studies to disaffected teenagers?” Grantaire asked, and Enjolras was startled into a laugh.

“I wanted to be a politician, and change the world. But parliament proved too much, and so here I am, teaching.”

“Teaching kids how to overthrow the government? Churning out little revolutionaries?”

Enjolras smiled. “Something like that.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few beats, and then Enjolras spoke up again.

“You should try and have a word with Gavroche, you know.”

Grantaire frowned. “What do you mean?”

“About his behaviour, and his attitude.”

“His grades are good, aren’t they? You said.”

Enjolras growled under his breath. “Yes, but he’s disruptive. He could be even better if he just tried, spent more time on homework, and less time-”

“He’s always like that,” Grantaire said, chuckling. “Always got something to say. He talks back at home as well.”

“And that might be okay for you in your home,” Enjolras said, angry suddenly, Grantaire’s lack of response irritating him more than it should. “But in a school environment-”

“Sounds like it’s your problem, then, if you can’t control your class,” Grantaire retorted, and Enjolras clenched his fists.

"I'm just saying, that as his parents-"

Enjolras broke off as Grantaire started laughing. 

"I'm sorry, what's so funny?" Enjolras snapped, at the end of his tether with this conversation and this infuriating man. 

“Éponine’s his sister,” Grantaire explained, “and we’re definitely _not_ together. Although she’ll laugh when I tell her that you thought we were.”

“Regardless,” Enjolras said, getting himself back on track, “as his _guardians_ you should really care more about his attitude in my class-”

Grantaire's eyes flashed. "I’m going to stop you right there. Éponine wouldn’t want me to tell you this, because she thinks it doesn’t need to be said, and it _shouldn’t_ , but when there are idiots like you teaching that kid, after everything he’s gone through, I have to say _something,_ even if you don’t listen.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, but Grantaire silenced him with a glare.

“Let's just say that Éponine and Gavroche's parents were not very good people, and leave it at that. Éponine had me the whole way through high school, and she basically lived at my house. Gavroche didn't have that, and the second Éponine was old enough she got him out of there. And she's amazing, but she couldn't do it herself, so I helped. We scrape and save to get a house in this catchment area so we can send him to a good fucking school, because he’s smart, and talented, and he deserves the chance to show it.”

Grantaire was breathing heavily, and Enjolras was struck silent.

“Maybe he acts out, maybe he doesn’t focus, maybe he misbehaves and talks back to you, but he’s not a bad kid, and he’s mentally and physically much healthier than you would expect, given what he’s experienced. Maybe you should have a think about your assumptions, about treating all children the same, about assuming they’re got the same shit going on at home.”

Grantaire took a deep, calming breath, and Enjolras felt the guilt rising in him.

“And you certainly don’t get to tell us that we don’t care about Gavroche. The amount that Éponine’s given up for him, shit, even the amount I do for him. I never wanted kids, I never thought I’d be looking after a teenager in my mid-twenties, but here I am, and I wouldn’t change it. Somewhere along the line I became his legal guardian, and so yeah, I guess we're the closest he's got to a mum and dad. But to say we should care more than we do? You're a little bit off there, Apollo."

Grantaire pushed his chair out, the legs scraping on the floor, and stood up. His eyes were still glittering with anger, but his voice was calm.

“Thank you for your time, and your comments. We’ll have a word with Gavroche.” And he turned on his heel and strode away before Enjolras could think of anything to say.

***

Éponine was sitting talking to the physics teacher when Grantaire finally found her, pissed off and absolutely ready to leave. He prodded her on the shoulder, and she turned to glare at him.

“Can we go, please?” Grantaire said, realising as he said it that he was acting like a child, but too riled up to care.

“I’m speaking to Ms _Fauchelevent_ ,” Éponine hissed, and Grantaire forced a smile at the teacher, who beamed back. She was small, slight, Asian, and beautiful, wearing a flowery dress and a bow in her hair.

“Please, call me Cosette,” she said, and Éponine smiled back at her. Grantaire raised his eyebrows in surprise. This woman didn’t seem like Éponine’s type, but Grantaire had known her for long enough to recognise the crush forming in her eyes. Normally he would stay, make her laugh despite herself, find out more about Cosette who seemed lovely and who must be smart to be a high school physics teacher, and must be _tough_ to handle teenagers while wearing flowers, but he couldn’t. He was still angry, absolutely _fuming_ after his argument with Enjolras, and so he muttered an apology and made a hasty retreat to the car.

Éponine appeared after he’d been stewing in his irritation for about fifteen minutes, and was mostly over it. He wasn’t one to hold a grudge.

She slid into the passenger seat, and looked at him in silence while he started the car. “What happened there?”

“I got into an argument with the modern studies teacher,” he said, cheerful now they were leaving.

Éponine sighed. “What about?”

“Oh, just generally how he was far too pretty for his own good.”

“So you don’t want to tell me?”

Grantaire put the car in gear and pulled out of the car park. “It doesn’t matter, Éponine, really, there’s no other parents’ nights this year so I won’t ever see him again if Gav doesn’t pick it next year. He was just being stupid, and I told him that.”

Éponine scoffed. “And did he tell you that you were being stupid?”

“How rude,” Grantaire gasped, faking astonishment and Éponine laughed. “What about you and _Cosette_?” he asked slyly, peeking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” she snapped, but she looked pleased with herself.

Grantaire drove in silence for a while, very emphatically _not_ thinking about Enjolras Tourdot and how bright his eyes were when he was exasperated. Now his rage had abated, he could fully appreciate the other man’s blond hair and his angular face that looked sculpted from marble.

“She’s very…nice,” Éponine said suddenly, breaking the silence, the word in her mouth sounding like something unexpected. But Grantaire understood. Éponine hadn’t known a lot of nice people in her life. “Apparently Gavroche really likes space. I didn’t know.” There was a hint of sadness in Éponine’s voice that made Grantaire’s heart ache. Éponine had missed so much of Gav’s childhood, focused on getting him _out_ of their parents’ home to be able to know him at all.

They’d been his guardians for two years now, but two years wasn’t long enough to _know_ someone, especially not a teenager with a shitty past and a bad attitude who pretended nothing was wrong even though they could hear him crying himself to sleep.

“You know now,” he said softly, and Éponine smiled, eyes still slightly melancholy.

They didn’t speak much on the rest of the drive home, but the second they got through the front door, Gavroche was there, feigning nonchalance.

“Nothing but good things, kid,” Grantaire said, ruffling Gav’s hair, and Gavroche squirmed away, hiding a smile.

“Although R did start an argument with your modern studies teacher,” Éponine said dryly, hanging up her jacket.

“A minor disagreement,” Grantaire said defensively.

“What’s for dinner?” Gavroche asked, and Grantaire chuckled at the swift change of subject. He was sure he’d never eaten so much when he was Gav’s age.

“Pizza,” Éponine said firmly, “but not stuffed crust. Reports were good, but not brilliant.”

Gavroche grumbled under his breath, but he was still smiling, and he traipsed into the kitchen when Éponine pushed him away.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

Grantaire laughed. “I’m fine, Éponine. You know how often I argue. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to see him again anyway.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras has a small crisis. Grantaire is confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: oh I'll have Grantaire do Muay Thai! I love it and I always want to have characters do it too  
> Also me, realising I've written fully half this chapter as a thinly-veiled excuse to talk about Muay Thai, having not been able to do it for four months and really really missing it, apparently: ...

Enjolras had left the parents’ evening feeling incredibly guilty. He didn’t even remember what he’d said to the last couple he’d spoken to after Grantaire had left, still shaken by their disagreement.

He knew that he could be unobservant, and that he could get too caught up in his own thoughts and ideas. He just always wanted the pupils in his care to do the _best_ they could, and even he could admit that sometimes he forgot that they were individuals and also that were still just _children_. But to hear a complete stranger criticise him so accurately was jarring, to say the least.

He came into work the next day sulking inwardly, and he went to find Combeferre before the first bell. Ferre was in the maths base, in his customary seat, nursing an exceedingly large mug of coffee and marking a pile of homework.

Enjolras slid into the seat beside him, peering at Ferre’s papers. “What’s that?”

Combeferre sighed. “Third year maths homework. Not good. They understood it in class, but apparently not at home, so we’ll have to go over it again, I think.”

They sat there in silence, punctuated by Combeferre’s increasingly exasperated sighs. They were comfortable enough with each other not to mind the quiet, after so many years of friendship, and they both knew that if something needed to be said, the space would be there for it to be said.

“Ferre?” asked Enjolras, and Ferre hummed in distracted response.

“I had a bit of an argument with someone at the parents’ night last night.”

Combeferre looked up from his marking at that, blinking at Enjolras in surprise. “With a parent?”

“A guardian, yes. About one of the second years. You know Gavroche Thénardier? Do you teach him?”

“Hmm. I taught him last year, I think, not this year. Smart kid, a bit loud.”

“Yes, well. His guardian.”

Combeferre sighed, putting down his pen and turning properly to face Enjolras, pushing his glasses more securely up his nose.

“What did you say, Enjolras?”

Enjolras shifted in his seat. “I was just maybe a little bit too intense. He defended Gavroche, of course he did, corrected a few of my assumptions. He was right.”

Combeferre chuckled. “And that’s worse than if he was wrong, huh?” and Enjolras scowled. Sometimes he thought that Combeferre knew him _too_ well.

“I want to apologise to him,” Enjolras said, “but I don’t know how. I can hardly phone him, that would be a massive breach of data protection, using the children’s contact details for my own purposes…”

“Why don’t you just say to Gavroche? He’s an intelligent boy. Just ask him to tell his guardian that you apologise. You don’t need to go into any detail at all.”

“Huh,” Enjolras said, struck by Combeferre’s simple solution and slightly embarrassed he hadn’t thought of it himself. “I will.”

At that moment, the bell for registration rang, and Enjolras leaped to his feet. “I have to go, I’ve got the fourth years for first period. Little shits,” and Combeferre laughed out loud. Enjolras didn’t swear a lot, but his fourth year class were something else.

“Bye,” Ferre said, turning back to his marking, and Enjolras sped off back to his own classroom.

***

“Twenty kicks each leg!” yelled the coach, and Grantaire groaned, exhausted, before straightening himself into his guard position. Bahorel counted him down as he sped through the kicks, and then almost collapsed with the exertion, bent over and gasping for breath.

“Stupid… bloody… kicks,” Grantaire wheezed, and Bahorel laughed at him, as if he hadn’t been just as tired half an hour ago when it was his turn to kick. Grantaire didn’t even have the energy to scowl at him, instead slumping to the floor and pulling off his gloves. Bahorel sauntered over to hang up the pads on their hooks, thanking the coach on his way back, and Grantaire began to unwind the wraps from around his hands, rolling them up and stretching out his aching legs as he did so.

It didn’t feel like it immediately after the class, but Grantaire _loved_ Muay Thai. _Like kickboxing but with elbows and knees,_ is how he always described it, but it was more than that. They almost did more cardio than technique in these classes sometimes, but he loved the burn in his muscles and the feeling of getting stronger. He’d been doing Muay Thai for a couple of years, ever since Bahorel dragged him along one day, and it had improved his balance and his stamina and his fitness and, although it didn’t always feel like it had, his mental health. Exercise did give you endorphins, he’s learned that somewhere (Legally Blonde, possibly) but sometimes it was good to just punch some pads as hard as possible when you felt shit as well.

“You coming to sparring tomorrow?” Bahorel asked, and Grantaire nodded.

“Yeah, working an early shift doing some inventory and stuff. 9-5, so I’ll be here. It’s been a while, so don’t go too hard on me.”

Bahorel scoffed. “Like you could take me even if it hadn’t been a while.”

Grantaire couldn’t deny it. Bahorel had been training in this gym for about three years more than him, so of course he was better, but he was also tall and broad and muscled, and he could just hold Grantaire at arm’s length when they sparred, if he wanted to.

But Grantaire did love sparring. Everyone at this gym was brilliant, and there was a huge range of skill levels in the people who came to the training and to the sparring. There was a zero tolerance for beating people up- every sparring session was a fun, playful, learning session. Even the people who had done proper fights still took it easy with the newbies. After all, they’d been the newbies once too.

“How’s Éponine been?” Bahorel asked, as Grantaire clambered inelegantly to his feet, grabbing his gloves and handwraps.

“Good,” Grantaire said, “busy, that’s why she hasn’t been here in a while. She’s been doing quite a bit of extra weekend shifts at the nightclub, and she’s got loads of assignments due.”

Bahorel made an understanding noise as they headed for the changing rooms. “Try and get her to come to sparring soon, though, will you? It’s been ages, and Louison likes having other women to spar with.”

Grantaire nodded. “I’ll ask her,” he said. “But no promises.” The door to the changing room banged open, and Grantaire headed over to his bag, stuffing his gloves and shinpads and handwraps in all in a muddle. “I’m cycling home today, so I’m not going to shower, so I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Bahorel grinned and punched him in the shoulder. “See you tomorrow!”

***

The first time Enjolras had Gavroche’s class was third period the following day, immediately after break, when they were all hopped up and boisterous. They settled down quickly, though, as Enjolras had promised another mock debate, which they all loved. They were at the age where they pretended not to find class interesting at all, but he knew that a lesson where they were allowed to shout at each other was always going to hold their attention.

When the bell rang at the end of the class, Enjolras called Gavroche over. The boy sauntered over, nonchalant (or feigning it, as his friends oohed and laughed as they left).

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” Enjolras said, and Gavroche scoffed as if he couldn’t care less, but the tension in his shoulders fell away.

“I would like you, please, to apologise to your guardian for me. I had a... _disagreement_ with him, and I was in the wrong.”

Gavroche blinked. “You want me to apologise to Grantaire?” he said, somehow managing to sound incredibly scathing and very polite.

Enjolras shifted awkwardly, turning to wipe down the whiteboard so Gavroche couldn't see his face and the flush he was sure was rising up his cheekbones. “Yes please,” he said, “it’s not a big deal and I wouldn’t bother you with it, but I just couldn’t stand to leave things the way they were.”

“Alright, fine,” Gavroche said, and then there was a beat of silence. “Can I leave now? I have to get to English.”

“Yes, of course, sorry, Gavroche, off you go,” Enjolras said, and then turned to watch Gavroche practically flee. He breathed out a relieved sigh. That was done, and with any luck he wouldn’t have to see Grantaire again.

***

When Grantaire got home after work, bone-tired and feet aching after a day of hauling kegs and crates around, Gavroche was sprawled on the couch watching Avatar.

“Ooh, the Kyoshi Warriors! A good episode,” Grantaire said, dumping his jacket and bag on the floor and kicking off his shoes.

Gavroche rolled his eyes. “You’ve watched this too much,” he said scathingly, and Grantaire couldn’t deny it, flopping down next to Gav to watch with him.

A couple of episodes passed in a comfortable silence, Grantaire scrolling distractedly through twitter and instagram until his hunger overpowered his exhaustion.

“Do you want something to eat, Gav?” he called as he clambered to his feet and headed into the kitchen, and Gavroche made a humming sound. The noise from the laptop paused, and Gavroche appeared at the kitchen door.

“What are you making?” he asked, and Grantaire shrugged, poking around in the cupboards.

“Pasta, I think,” he said, making a mental note to go to the shops after sparring tonight. He filled the kettle and flicked in on, grabbing a pot from the drawer with a clatter.

“Then yeah, please,” Gavroche said, jumping up to sit on the table. “Hey, see my parents’ night?”

“Yeah?” said Grantaire distractedly, rummaging in the fridge.

“Did you have a fight with Mr Tourdot?”

Grantaire startled, banging his head against the fridge door and swearing. “Fuck me- I mean- shit- I mean. Damnit.” He straightened up and looked guiltily at Gavroche. “Don’t tell Éponine I swore in front of you.”

Gavroche scoffed. “I’m _thirteen_. I know swear words.”

“Well, sorry if I want to at least _pretend_ to be responsible.” He shook some dried pasta into the pot, adding the boiling water and chucking in some salt. He took a jar of pasta sauce out of the cupboard, too tired today to even think about cooking from scratch- especially since he was still planning to go to sparring. Maybe Éponine would be back soon and he could borrow her car. He retrieved a red bell pepper from the fridge almost as an afterthought, figuring they should at least have something moderately healthy. “Grate some cheese, will you?” Gavroche slid off the table and slouched over to the fridge, and then Grantaire remembered what he’d said.

“Wait, why did you ask about Mr Tourdot? Did he say something to you?

Gavroche shrugged. “He told me to tell you he was sorry.”

Grantaire paused in cutting the pepper to look askance at Gavroche, who was grating the cheese haphazardly. “He said _what?_ ”

“He said he was wrong, and he apologises, and that he didn’t want to leave things with you the way they were. It was _weird._ ”

“Huh,” Grantaire said, at an uncharacteristic loss for words, sliding the chopped pepper and some leftover diced onion into a pan, turning the heat down a bit when they sizzled.

Gavroche tipped the cheese into a bowl and dumped the grater by the side of the sink. “Call me in when it’s ready,” he said, and then left the kitchen. Grantaire blinked after him, and heard the sound of Avatar resuming.

“Huh,” he said again, and then the pasta started to boil over, and he turned his attention to that.

***

“Hey Bahorel,” Grantaire said, as he held the pads for the combo they were drilling. “Did I tell you about what happened at Gavroche’s parents’ night?”

Bahorel finished the combo and then paused, stretching out his shoulders. Grantaire shook out his arms, glad of the rest. Bahorel was _strong_ , and holding pads for him was almost more of a workout that actually doing the punching was.

“No, what did you do?”

Grantaire scoffed, feigning offense. “Why do you assume I did something?”

Bahorel raised an eyebrow, lifting his arms back into his guard, and Grantaire raised the pads again. “You always do _something,”_ Bahorel huffed, punctuating his words with a bone shaking right hook, and Grantaire couldn’t even deny it. He did have a tendency to, for want of a better phrase, stir shit.

“Fine. There was a teacher, modern studies teacher, gorgeous, dressed like a cool hipster teacher, blonde dyed curls tied up in a bun, walking wet dream to be honest…”

Bahorel went through the combo again, Grantaire moving the pads faster now they’d got the technique down. “Get to the point, please, _right_ now.”

“He was a dick about Gavroche. Assuming he knew why Gavroche acted out, judging how we look after him, saying we didn’t care.”

Bahorel let out a whistle. “What did Éponine say?”

“She wasn’t there at that point, lucky for him, or she’d have torn him apart, but I did my best.” Grantaire paused as the coach called for ten kicks each leg, and Bahorel sped through them, almost knocking Grantaire over.

“Shin pads on, and we’ll start sparring,” the coach shouted, and Grantaire rolled his shoulders out, dumping the pads in the corner and grabbing his own shin pads, bouncing slightly on the balls of his toes. He loved sparring, and it really had been too long.

“Just a play spar, yeah? To get warmed up?” Grantaire checked, pulling on his gloves and fastening the Velcro of the shin pads tight, and Bahorel nodded.

They touched gloves, and the bell dinged, and they started, which in this case, since it had been so long for Grantaire, mostly consisted of him trying to find his rhythm.

“Anyway,” Grantaire continued, throwing a couple of gentle jabs that Bahorel blocked easily. “Gavroche told me that the hot teacher told him to tell me that he was sorry.”

Bahorel did a swift low kick-high kick combo that Grantaire failed to block and took on his ribs with a wince, glad Bahorel wasn’t going anywhere near his full strength. “That’s nice, I guess?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire wheezed, retaliating with a quick flurry of punches, some of which landed, “but it’s weird. I mean, to say to Gavroche?”

He kicked up at Bahorel’s ribs, too slow, and before he could blink Bahorel had caught his leg and swept him. He hit the ground with a thud, breath knocked out of him. “God, I’m out of it,” he muttered to himself, allowing Bahorel to pull him to his feet.

“The guy must have felt bad, to ask Gav to pass on a message,” Bahorel said with a raised eyebrow, tapping his gloves to Grantaire’s.

“Hmm, yeah,” Grantaire said. “But enough of that. I’m going to sweep you tonight if it kills me. Besides, I’ll probably never see him again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took ages because I recently finished watching The Untamed on netflix and I then proceeded to get completely obsessed. I've started the comic and been reading fic non-stop. No space in my brain, just wuji.mp3 playing on repeat. Feel free to talk to me about this.  
> Next chapter- a Cosette and Éponine interlude!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Éponine and Cosette interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm trying to get to grips with my first chaptered fic. I'm going to aim for a weekly update, every Tuesday if I can. But life happens, so we'll see how that goes.
> 
> Hope you like this eposette centered one!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated <3

Éponine was sitting in her car, flicking listlessly through the channels on the radio. Her car was way too old to let her phone connect, and so she found herself more often than not listening to a channel that played 70s songs all day.

She was parked outside the school, waiting for Gavroche. It was a Thursday, and they were going to go to the cinema as a treat. Before Éponine got custody of Gavroche, before she knew him or he knew her, when she just wanted to get him out of their parents’ house for a couple of hours, they would go to the cinema after school, and just sit next to each other in the noise and the lights of the cinema, watching the film and letting it take them away.

Now, things were much better, but when Éponine had any time free, and Gavroche wasn’t pretending to be too cool to hang out with her, they would go to the cinema. Gav had an afterschool club on a Thursday, football, and from where she was parked she could vaguely make out the shapes of the pupils running about on the pitch. It was a clear, bright day, cold but not raining, and she was happy to sit in her car and wait for him.

She leaned her head back against the head rest and sighed, closing her eyes. It had been a hectic week. Her main job was working in a coffee shop, where she was supervisor, but she occasionally picked up weekend shifts at a club in the city centre, and she hadn’t had a day off in a few weeks. Add to that her part time university course, and the influx of assignments and homework she’d had due this week, and she was _tired._ She’d taken the day off tomorrow, and after the cinema with Gav tonight she was going to have a bath, have a glass of wine, and then _sleep_.

Éponine sat there, head tipped back, eyes closed, listening to the music playing gently through car and silently willing Gavroche to hurry up, before she fell asleep right here. She was woken from her doze by a tap on the window, and she jerked, eyes opening, expecting to see Gavroche looking in at her judgingly. But it wasn’t Gavroche.

It was Cosette.

Éponine rolled her window down, cursing her stupid old car as she cranked the handle round. Cosette was smiling at her, even more gorgeous in the fresh air than she had been inside the school, at the parents’ night two weeks ago. She had an armful of jotters and a floral hairband on. Her dress seemed to have diagrams of atoms on it.

“Hi, Ms Fauchelevent,” Éponine said weakly once she’d got the window wound.

“Cosette, please,” the other woman said, and Éponine couldn’t help her smile.

“How many physics dresses do you have?” she said stupidly, and then Cosette did an honest-to-god _twirl_ , the skirt flaring out around her in a perfect circle.

“Lots,” she said happily. “I used to think that I had to be not feminine to work in my field, but I love pink and I love dresses and I love physics too. Are you okay?”

Éponine blinked, disorientated by Cosette’s appearance in the first place and by the swift change of subject.

“I’m fine,” she said, and Cosette looked doubtful.

“You were sleeping,” she said, a note of judgment in her tone.

“I’m waiting for Gavroche,” Éponine said, struck with a sudden urge to explain herself. “We’re going to the cinema. It’s been a busy week.”

Cosette smiled again. Éponine had noticed that Cosette was free with her smiles in a way that she, Éponine, wasn’t. Gavroche wasn’t very free with his smiles either. Éponine couldn’t help but wonder if it was another leftover from their shitty childhood.

“Well, I hope you manage to get some more sleep soon!”

Éponine laughed. Cosette also said a lot of things very enthusiastically, with lilts in her voice that felt like exclamation marks, and Éponine found it nice and refreshing, not grating like she always thought she would find perky people. “I’ll be sleeping tonight for at least fourteen hours, I think,” she said and Cosette giggled. _Giggled._

“I get that, sometimes. I love my job, but teenagers are exhausting, you know.”

Éponine nodded. “Definitely. It’s hard enough just with Gavroche.”

“Oh, you should say to him, we’re going to start a space topic soon, he should like that.”

“Yeah, he will love that, ever since you mentioned how he loves space I’ve talked to him about it a couple of times, and he knows _loads._ Taught me some stuff. It’s actually really fucking interesting.” She looked guiltily up at Cosette. She seemed too _nice_ to swear around. But she didn’t seem offended, so Éponine carried on. “Grantaire and I were thinking of taking him to the science centre, you know, to the planetarium?”

“Oh, you definitely should if you can, it’s amazing there,” Cosette gushed, and then her mouth twisted slightly, and she looked slightly uncertain. “Grantaire was the guy you were with at the parents’ night, right? Your-”

“My friend,” Éponine said quickly, before Cosette could guess. She wasn’t sure why, but it seemed important that this beautiful woman knew that she and Grantaire weren’t together. “He’s just my best friend, we’re not involved. It’s a little unconventional, but it works for us, so…” And she shrugged.

Cosette beamed at her. “That sounds amazing. I’ve seen a lot more stereotypically _conventional_ family set-ups that weren’t happy or loving at all, so what you guys have is incredible.” A shadow passed over Cosette’s face as she said that, there and gone like a cloud over the sun before her smile was back. Éponine didn’t know what to say.

“It’s nice to see you again, anyway!” Cosette said, continuing as if nothing had happened. “Gavroche talks about you sometimes, mentions you in passing. He doesn’t say it right out, but you can just tell that he really loves you, you know.”

“Hah,” Éponine said, “he’ll never say it out loud. He’s a teenage boy, and they’re not great with their emotions.”

Cosette laughed. It was a lovely sound, and Éponine immediately wanted to make Cosette laugh again. She laughed with her whole body, her face scrunched up and happy.

“Speak of the devil,” Éponine said, spotting Gavroche sauntering towards the car, and finding herself wishing he’d taken his time today, “here he comes. It was really good to see you again.”

“You too, Éponine,” Cosette said, voice soft around Éponine’s name, and then she was waving goodbye as she walked away, and Gavroche was yanking the door open with a commotion, flinging his bag in the back and immediately starting to complain about his coach.

“Bye, Cosette,” Éponine whispered, too quiet, too late.

“What?” Gavroche said suspiciously, and Éponine shook herself.

“Nothing,” she said, and then turned the key in the ignition. “You ready?” And then they were off.

***

Cosette arrived early at work on Friday morning, with a box of cookies under her arm and a bag full of marking that she hadn’t done the previous night. She’d felt anxious the whole evening, antsy and wired. She’d gone for a long run that left her wheezing and achy, and she’d baked cookies, and drank tea, and then went to sleep early.

The main staff room was empty bar Enjolras when she arrived, and she placed her Tupperware of cookies on the counter and flicked the kettle on to boil.

Enjolras was sitting silently at the long table, one hand aimlessly flicking through an abandoned magazine, the other curled loosely around a steaming cup of his normal strong black sugary coffee. Cosette sat down across from him, pulling out her marking and dumping it in an untidy stack on the table. She groaned loudly, and Enjolras looked up at her, eyebrow raised. She hated it when he did that, when she couldn’t.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she was grateful for the question. He could definitely tell that she wasn’t okay. They’d known each other for long enough, but she appreciated him giving her the option to evade the question.

“Had an anxious night last night,” she admitted, and Enjolras made an understanding noise. He knew all about her anxiety.

Cosette and Enjolras had been friends in primary school, _best_ friends in a way that only very young, very lonely children can be. Cosette had still been aching from the loss of her mother, from her time in care, from her time being fostered with a family who _hated_ her. She’d been living with her father- not her birth father, but who cared- but he’d been busy, and hurting, and he didn’t always have time to spend with a small child. Enjolras’s parents weren’t uncaring, but they were _cold,_ and distant.

But the two of them had had each other.

They’d made a friendship pact when they were six. To be friends forever, they’d said, with the earnest sincerity of children. And their friendship had lasted all through primary school, all through secondary school. Cosette had been there when Enjolras had told her he was a boy, actually, and then later when he’d told her he was gay. Enjolras had been there for Cosette’s first date, when she’d came home admitting that maybe she was gay as well.

They’d parted ways for university, intending to keep in touch, but it hadn’t really worked like that. Cosette was studying astrophysics, making friends and glaring down anyone who thought less of her for being a woman in STEM. Enjolras was studying politics, taking over the student debating society and the LGBT+ society. They were at different universities, studying different things, and they still called each other now and then but it wasn’t the same.

But then, Enjolras had realised that he couldn’t take apart the government from the inside, and Cosette had realised that the tutoring she was doing on the side of her boring admin job was more fulfilling than she’d thought, and they’d both gone back to university to do a teaching post-graduate course. They’d been astonished to see each other there, and happy and glad to have a familiar face, to see a friend again.

They’d soared through the post-grad year, tired and overworked, gone on their placements at a range of different schools, did probation years and exchanged notes and commiserated. And then, when they were both fully fledged teachers, they’d been placed at the same school.

People were often surprised that the two of them were so close. Cosette was bright and bubbly and open; Enjolras was passionate and a brilliant teacher, sure, but he was also closed off and cold to most people.

They couldn’t really explain to each other that theirs was a friendship that had seen through childhood trauma and everything beyond. Enjolras knew all about Cosette’s anxiety, her depression, her worry for her father, the grief she still felt for her mother. Cosette had been there when Enjolras’ family were being awful, been there through his dysmorphia and his hatred for himself and everyone, for his anger at every person he had to correct and every hoop he had to jump through.

They’d been there for each other. And they always would be.

And what these years of friendship meant was that Enjolras could tell that Cosette was feeling shit, and that maybe she’d want to talk about it and maybe she wouldn’t, but either way he pushed an apple across the table to her.

“I got some more of your fruity tea,” he said quietly, still flicking through the magazine. “You’d run out.”

Cosette made an appreciative noise, and as the kettle began to boil, got to her feet, retrieving her mug from the cupboard. The tea Enjolras had bought was still in its plastic wrap on her designated shelf, and she unwrapped it, getting her diffuser down as well. She was always more than happy to drink normal tea, but she liked loose leaf tea, liked the repetitive and familiar motions, watching the tea stew. She fetched a spoon, and cleaned it in the sink (you could never be too careful, in a communal kitchen) as she waited patiently for her tea, leaning against the work surface.

The worst part about her anxiety last night was how _irrational_ it had been. She’d left work at her normal time, everything the same as usual except for meeting Gavroche’s sister outside the school- and that had made her heart race, but definitely not in an anxious way. No, that was more because the woman was beautiful and smart and she clearly loved her brother. Cosette had got home at her normal time, missed the most of the traffic, made dinner, phoned her dad… and then felt the pressure in her chest, the shortness of breath and the whirling thoughts that she was so familiar with.

Today was a new day, though. She had nice tea, thanks to Enjolras. She was early to work, and she had no class first period, so she’d have time to do the marking she hadn’t done last night. It was going to be a good day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavroche punches a homophobe. Grantaire and Enjolras have an awkward interaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a wee bit longer than my goal of 2k ish per chapter, hope you like it!
> 
> Notes at the end about the specifics of high school in scotland, but feel free to ignore if you wish
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! <3

Grantaire was asleep when his phone rang. He’d had a late shift last night, a rare mid-week function in the upstairs room of the bar, and hadn’t got home until 4am. The tips more than made up for that, as well as the fact that he wasn’t working til 5pm tonight, and he could sleep all day.

Or rather, he had been intending to sleep all day. He flailed his arm wildly in the direction of his bedside table, groping for his phone, knocking something over and hoping it wasn’t full of liquid and/or breakable. He briefly thought of ignoring the call, but rejected the thought almost immediately. People phoned him rarely enough that it might be important.

He finally managed to snap the phone and swipe to answer, not even looking at the screen before retreating into his cosy duvet nest. “Hello?” he croaked, and then cleared his throat and tried again. “Hello?”

“Grantaire, thank fuck, are you awake? I need your help.” Éponine’s voice was harried and on edge, and that woke Grantaire up more than the obscenely loud ringtone had. Éponine didn’t often show her stress in her voice.

“Wasn’t awake, but I am now, what’s up?” Grantaire asked, pulling himself semi-upright and trying to focus.

“Yeah, you had a night shift, I waited and called you last.” Éponine didn’t apologise, but then the two of them didn’t usually apologise to each other. They were too close for that. “The school called me, Gavroche punched a kid or something, they need someone to pick him up. I think he’s probably going to be suspended. I would have gone but it’s only me and the new girl in today and I can’t get in touch with anyone to cover me.”

“Oh, shit, yeah, of course,” Grantaire said, blinking the tiredness out of his eyes and swinging his legs out of bed, wincing at the cold floorboards on his bare feet. “Do you have your car?”

“Yeah,” Éponine said.

“I’ll cycle to your work, then, and then we can switch, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Éponine said, sounding distracted. “Fuck, I have to go, she really can’t be left alone at all, hurry up, will you?” And then she hung up before he could ask her to have a coffee ready for him.

He dragged himself out of bed and had the world’s quickest shower, cold enough to wake him up while he washed the bar smell off himself. He had been exhausted when he got home, too tired to do anything but strip off his clothes and fall into bed, but no-one could do a whole shift at a bar without spilling copious amounts of alcohol on themselves, mostly beer, and he felt sticky and disgusting.

He got dressed in the cleanest clothes he could find, and then grabbed his keys, his backpack, his helmet and his reusable cup, in vague hope that he’d have time to get pour some coffee into his poor sleep-deprived body. He locked the door behind him, undoing his bike from where it was padlocked onto the fence (couldn’t be too careful, even here), and then off he sped, pushing down on the pedals as he zoomed down the street.

He arrived at Éponine’s work in less than five minutes, having only almost died once, and re-padlocked his bike to a lamppost outside the café.

Éponine was at the counter, hovering at the shoulder of a terrified looking girl as she typed someone’s order into the till, but she looked up with the faintest trace of relief as Grantaire appeared.

“Here,” she said, pulling her car keys out of her apron pocket and lobbing them to him, and he caught them, just, before more sedately pushing his helmet and the padlock key across the counter to her. “And there’s a coffee here, if you’ve got your own cup.”

Grantaire gasped in gratitude, groping for his reusable cup and thrusting it to her. She retrieved a still steaming mug of coffee from under the counter, and poured it into the reusable cup without spilling a drop. The new barista looked impressed.

“Thank you,” he said, sure that he sounded embarrassingly adoring, and Éponine rolled her eyes, pushing an apple and a cereal bar across the counter as well. He slid them into his bag, inhaling the strong coffee smell emerging from the cup, and grinned at her.

“See you later!” he said, and Éponine sighed, turning back to teaching the new girl the perfect way to make an espresso shot as Grantaire turned on his heel and left to find her car.

***

Enjolras was _angry._ He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, and the only thing stopping his rage outright bursting from him was the knowledge that there were kids nearby, and he’d only freak them out if he yelled.

Javert was in Headmaster Valjean’s office, no doubt telling his own version of events, and Enjolras was sitting in the hallway, shifting awkwardly on the uncomfortable chair. Gavroche was beside him, twisting his hands in his lap, and the boy he’d punched was downstairs in the sick room with an ice pack on his eye.

He closed his eyes, thumping his head back against the wall, and then he heard Combeferre chuckle. He opened his eyes, squinting bemusedly at Combeferre.

“Why are you here?” he asked, tone a little more accusatory than he’d meant.

“I’m first aid trained, and I have an advanced higher class just now, so I’ve left them to it. I wanted to check on Gavroche’s hand.”

Gavroche looked confused, but he held out his hand when Combeferre crouched beside him, opening the green first aid kit he had with him.

“Hmm, it’ll probably bruise,” Combeferre muttered, pulling an antiseptic gel out of the kit and smearing it on the scrapes on Gavroche’s knuckles. Gavroche winced but didn’t complain.

“Why are you helping me? Am I not in trouble?” Gavroche sounded harsh, angry, but there was an undercurrent of worry there. He was still just a _boy_ , after all.

Combeferre laughed gently. “Probably. I don’t know. I’m just a nurse here.” And with that, he shut the first aid kit with a decisive click and stood up gracefully. “Don’t punch anyone else until that heals, okay?” Gavroche nodded, and Combeferre smiled before walking away.

Silence fell again, and although Enjolras wouldn’t admit to it, he was trying to hear Valjean’s tone through the door. The headmaster was scrupulously fair, and Enjolras knew he’d listen to all sides, but he couldn’t bear to imagine the sort of poison that Javert was spilling in Valjean’s ears.

Javert _hated_ Gavroche, apparently had some sort of history with his family, and Enjolras was beyond glad that he’d seen the incident as well, and that Gavroche had someone on his side.

As if summoned by Enjolras’s thoughts, the door to the headmaster’s office banged opened and Javert appeared, scowling furiously. He glowered at Enjolras and Gavroche. Gavroche looked down, but Enjolras glared right back, and Javert strode off along the corridor, muttering to himself.

Headmaster Valjean poked his head out, smiling serenely. “Mr Tourdot, Mr Thénardier, please come in.”

Enjolras jumped to his feet, feeling oddly like a teenager again, being called to the headteacher’s office to get told off, and Gavroche looked a little tense as well, as the two of them walked tentatively into the office.

Valjean sat behind his desk, gesturing to the seats across from him, and they sat down under his smiling gaze. “Mr Tourdot, if you would tell me what happened.”

Enjolras launched into the story, trying to stay calm and coherent. He had been on lunch duty, as had Javert. Usually he could have a chat with the fellow teacher on lunch duty, but Javert was stony faced as always, so the two of them had been standing in silence when the commotion had broken out. A few of the third year boys had been throwing homophobic and racist comments around, and Gavroche, along with another second year, had been standing up to them, shielding a couple of tiny terrified first years from the vitriol being spewed at them. One of the bigger third years had got all up in Gavroche’s face, shouting horrible things, and before Enjolras could get close enough to intervene, an enraged shout rising up in his throat, Gavroche had pulled his fist back and punched the other boy in the face.

Everything had escalated very quickly after that. Enjolras and Javert had waded into the chaos to pull the two boys apart, dragging all of them to the office, and then to Enjolras’ horror, Javert had tried to let the boys who’d been hurling abuse leave, and only take Gavroche and his friend to get punished.

Enjolras had almost yelled at him, and only with effort had restrained himself to an angry hiss. He’d eventually compromised by letting everyone but Gavroche and the boy who’d been punched go to class as the bell ring, but he wrote down their names. He sent the injured boy, who was really hamming up the pain, to the sick room to get an icepack, and then the two teachers, glaring at each other the whole time, accompanied by Gavroche who still looked angry but was cradling his hand to his chest, stomped upstairs to see Headmaster Valjean.

Valjean listened to Enjolras’ retelling with a wry expression on his face like he could tell that Enjolras was suppressing his angry words, and when he finished, the headmaster sighed and leaned forwards.

“And are you sorry, Gavroche?” he asked, and Gavroche scoffed.

“Not sorry I punched him. Sorry I’m in trouble,” he muttered, and then glared defiantly at the headmaster. “They shouldn’t have been saying things like that.” There was a stubborn jut to his chin, like he knew he was going to be punished and he was trying to pretend not to care.

Valjean sighed again, but as he was about to speak, someone knocked on the door. “Ah, that will be your guardian, Gavroche,” he said, and then raised his voice slightly “Come in!”

The door opened, and both Enjolras and Gavroche turned around. Enjolras expected to see Éponine, but instead it was Grantaire who poked his head in, looking tired and rumpled.

“Please, sit down,” Valjean said, and Grantaire did, slumping into the seat next to Enjolras. He was cradling a coffee, and the bags under his eyes were pronounced.

“I hope we didn’t wake you up, Mr-”

Grantaire cut Valjean off with a languid wave of his hand. “Call me Grantaire, it’s fine, and I was working a late shift last night so I didn’t get much sleep. If only Gavroche had punched someone on a day I wasn’t sleeping.”

Enjolras turned to face him, shocked and angry, only to see the smirk on the other man’s face.

“I’m _joking,_ ” he said with a laugh, and then leaned forward to look around Enjolras at Gavroche. “Are you okay?” he asked, and then the two of them exchanged a series of eyebrow twitches that seemed to constitute an entire conversation. He turned back to Valjean and raised an eyebrow. “What _happened?_ ”

Valjean sighed. “Mr Tourdot was there, and it seems that there were some older boys being homophobic, and racist, and that Mr Thénardier was merely attempting to stop them from saying such vicious things.”

Grantaire blinked, and then took a sip from his coffee. “I know we shouldn’t condone violence, but well done, right? Well done Gav? I’ve had my fair share of experience with that type of person, and after a certain amount of time, _talking_ no longer works.”

“I do agree with you,” Valjean said quietly, “but unfortunately this school does have a zero-tolerance approach to violence.”

Grantaire scoffed. “Do you also have a zero-tolerance approach to bigoted bullying?”

“Yes,” Valjean said, still quiet, still serious, “and of course the pupils who were saying such things will also be punished-”

Grantaire laughed harshly. “Sure, they’ll get a slap on the wrist and then they’ll keep doing it, because it’s not ever like schools care about the welfare of their most vulnerable students-”

“Stop, please,” interrupted Valjean, voice level but firm. “Mr- Grantaire, sorry, I can see you’ve had some bad experiences with this before, but I can assure you that is not how we deal with things here. The boys in question will be suspended for two days, not including today, and then will have a week of lunchtime detention which will consist of mandatory classes on discrimination and so on. Mr Tourdot has the names, I believe,” and he raised his eyebrow at Enjolras, who startled. He’d been so focused on the discussion- and it had been a discussion, no raised voices despite the topic- that he was surprised to be mentioned, but he nodded.

“Good. Mr Tourdot has the names, and I will be speaking individually to the pupils and their parents.”

Grantaire seemed shocked into silence, but he managed to pull himself together. “And what about Gavroche?”

“Mr Thénardier did punch another pupil, regrettably. He shows no remorse-” and Valjean raised a hand to stop Grantaire’s protest, “-understandably, he shows no remorse, but regardless. He will be suspended for the remainder of today and tomorrow, and then he will return to school with no further penalties. It will also not be recorded on his transcript against him.”

Enjolras relaxed. He’d been worried that Javert would have swayed Valjean, but he’d had nothing to worry about. Valjean was strict and by the book, but he was also scrupulously fair.

Grantaire still looked shocked, as if he’d expected more pushback, and Gavroche looked like he’d seen his life flash before his eyes.

“Now, if there’s nothing else, Mr Tourdot will show you both out.” And with that obvious dismissal, Valjean turned his attention to the papers on his desk, and Enjolras got to his feet, followed by both Grantaire and Gavroche who both looked baffled and wrong-footed.

They walked downstairs in relative silence, and it wasn’t until they got to the main entrance that Grantaire spoke up. “You were oddly quiet, Apollo,” and as Enjolras turned to glare at him he remembered suddenly that the last time they’d met hadn’t ended well, and he closed his mouth with an audible snap.

“Go sit in the car, Gav,” Grantaire said, throwing the key to the boy, who grabbed it with ease and sauntered off, panic faded now he was out of the school. Grantaire turned to look at Enjolras, face inscrutable.

“Gavroche said you asked him to give me your apologies?” Grantaire said, and despite the lift at the end of the sentence, it didn’t feel like a question. Enjolras nodded anyway, feeling oddly short of words.

“Thank you,” Grantaire said, “I appreciated that. I was glad to know that you knew you were wrong.”

Enjolras opened his mouth, offended, but before he could say anything, Grantaire laughed. “I’m kidding, Apollo. It was nice to see you. Bye!” And he turned with a wave, following Gavroche off to wherever their car was.

Enjolras was left standing there, looking after them, feeling distinctly off balance as he watched the strange man walk away.

***

Grantaire turned on the classical radio station the second he got into the car, because he knew Gavroche hated it and it annoyed Éponine having to change it to the station she liked.

“I’m proud of you, Gavroche,” he said, keeping his eyes deliberately on the road. He saw, out of the corner of his eyes, Gavroche jump, as if he’d expected something else. “You stood up to a bigot. Next time, maybe try the less violent approach. I passed an angry man on my way up the stairs who sounded like he wanted you expelled.”

“Javert,” Gavroche said, voice disgusted. “The bastard.” Grantaire didn’t bother to chastise him for his language.

“Enjolras seemed proud as well,” Grantaire said, ignoring Gav’s mutter of “ _Mr Tourdot”_. “Looked like he was only just managing to hold back some scathing comments.”

“Yeah, he’s cool,” Gavroche said grudgingly, and then sunk back into silence.

Grantaire hummed along to the music. “We can go get pizza and take some to Éponine, if you want,” and Gavroche nodded excitedly, not even trying to hide his enthusiasm. “A day off and some pizza in exchange for punching a bigot, not bad,” and Gavroche laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick rundown of exams in Scottish schools: National 4 is when you’re 15 ish, mostly coursework only. National 5 is the first proper proper exams, aged 16, fourth year of high school. These were combined into one level when I was at school, called Standard Grades, but now it’s Nat 4 and Nat 5. In fifth year, age 16-17 ish, you do Highers, which are usually what you need to get into university. In sixth year, last year, age 17-18, you can do more Highers, or Advanced Highers, which are on a similar level to the first year of uni. You can leave at age 16, after Nat 5.
> 
> For example, I did Advanced Higher maths and physics (and a load of other shit too. I did way too much, had a bad year), both of which meant first year of uni was pretty easy, which unfortunately meant that second year of uni was a horrible shock. Swings and roundabouts. 
> 
> You can also ‘crash’ a Higher in sixth year, which means you didn’t do it as a Standard Grade (or Nat 5, now) and so you start a bit behind and have to learn three years worth in one year. 
> 
> Hope this makes sense! Feel free to ask me if not. Or alternatively, you don’t give a shit, and that’s fine too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the planetarium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a wee bit early because I've booked a week off work (thank fuck) and I'm going away for a couple days to a caravan up north with zero wifi cannot wait!
> 
> Maybe I got a bit excited about space in this chapter? Not sorry. The science centre in question is [Glasgow Science Centre](https://www.google.com/search?q=glasgow+science+centre&sxsrf=ALeKk02N37nWE4TGUrRD29Uy8i174k4kJQ:1595671924356&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwims-qRlejqAhVOQhUIHe7nCkEQ_AUoAnoECBsQBA&biw=1366&bih=625) which is awesome but really does look ridiculous.
> 
> The bar that Grantaire works at is a slightly idealised version of one I worked at- unfortunately, there's a great deal of sectarianism in Glasgow football and my pub was not exempt. Also, I got a lot of patronising older men making vaguely misogynistic comments which I think Grantaire, as a man, would not have received. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated as always! <3

The next weekend day that both Éponine and Grantaire were off was a few weeks later, after Gavroche had been suspended. It was about a month since Éponine had mentioned in passing to Ms Fauchelevent ( _Cosette)_ about taking Gavroche to the planetarium, and then told Grantaire about _that_ conversation in a way that made it clear she’d been thinking about it a lot, but she and Grantaire were always so busy on weekends and this was the first chance they’d had.

Gavroche was very excited, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it. He’d not had lot of opportunities when he was younger, to be a proper kid. Both he and Éponine had had to grow up far too fast, and Éponine was genuinely delighted to see him properly excited to be doing a normal thing. Grantaire was looking forward to it as well, and he knew that Éponine was too, to be doing something together. They might not be a traditional family, but they were a family nonetheless.

Plus, while Grantaire didn’t _broadcast_ it, he was a fucking nerd. He loved science, and space, and all of that stuff. He was subscribed to loads of different online scientific publications, and often thought that if things had been different, maybe he would have gone into that field. But then, a lot of things would have had to be different. If he’d been more academically inclined, if he hadn’t had so many mental health issues, if not for his drinking, if Éponine hadn’t needed help with Gavroche… There were too many ‘ifs’ for him to dwell on it too much. He was happy with his life, and he was happy to enjoy science from a slightly distant point, and he was _very_ happy to go to a science centre with his _family._

They went early on Saturday, reasoning that it would likely be busy with small children in the afternoon. Éponine drove, and they stopped for coffee, and it was a clear but blustery day when they parked outside the science centre. It was a hugely bizarre building- or rather, three hugely bizarre buildings. The main building was a giant metal and glass structure, beautiful in a very rigid way, the glass front looking out onto the river. Another building, which Grantaire was vaguely sure was some kind of fancy cinema, was a gigantic misshapen metal ball. And then finally, there was a tall tower, shaped enough like a sail that Grantaire was pretty certain that’s what they were going for. It swayed slightly in the wind, and there was a sign saying it was closed.

Grantaire loved the whole peculiar set-up.

The three of them traipsed towards the entrance, Gavroche practically bouncing, and Grantaire not too far behind him, excitement fizzling in his veins.

The entry room was not busy, and they made their way to the front, accepting a map from a smiling man standing in the middle. He directed them towards the counter, and they made their way over, Grantaire tailing behind as he skimmed the floor plan. There was a ‘magic or science’ show, and the normal planetarium show, and a whole floor of hands on activities! He was almost vibrating with excitement himself now, not even caring that he was a fully grown adult. It had been ages since he’d spent a day out just doing something _fun_. Besides, from the look on the smiling man’s face, he often saw adults beside themselves with happiness. Something about a science centre brought out the childlike side in everyone.

Éponine was speaking to the woman behind the counter, yet another chipper employee who looked way too happy to be working so early on a Saturday morning. Somehow Éponine had managed to finagle a discounted ticket for herself and a free one for Gavroche, and when they got their wristbands and made their way into the main building, she looked very pleased with herself.

“Can we go to the interactive floor first?!” Grantaire begged, not even remotely ashamed, and Gavroche piped up an agreement.

“Yeah, before all the kids come!”

“You mean, the target audience of the activities?” Éponine said dryly, but she was smirking.

“No, it’s for adults too, it says!” Grantaire said, and Éponine laughed.

“They only say that so adults won’t be bored as fuck,” but her eyes were sparkling as she headed to the escalator. “Race you!” And then she tore up the moving steps of the escalator, and with a shout of laughter, Gav and Grantaire followed.

They spent an exceptionally enjoyable couple of hours on the interactive activities floor. Grantaire unearthed some musical knowledge from the depths of his brain and managed to play a passable rendition of ‘happy birthday’ on a harp with light beams instead of strings. Éponine got hit on the head with a beach ball, and showed off her aptitude for shadows puppets on a wall which split the shadows into three different colours. They went to the ‘science as magic’ show as well, watching explosions and lights, yelling gleefully when the man called for audience participation. Gavroche got picked to be the man’s lab assistant, possibly because he looked old enough to not set himself on fire but young enough that he wasn’t blatantly picking an adult. Éponine and Grantaire took about a million photos of Gavroche dressed in a lab coat, holding a foaming test tube at arm’s length with a vaguely panicked expression on his face while the demonstrator waved a wand around.

They took a break for food before the planetarium. Éponine had brought chocolate, and Grantaire had brought tangerines, and they sat by the windows as they ate their snacks, looking out over the river. In a prettier part of the city, or on a sunnier day, it would maybe be a lovely view, but there was an austere kind of beauty in the grey sky and the grey water.

Grantaire checked his watch, and poked Éponine in the ribs, reaching over and throwing the rubbish into a nearby bin. “Planetarium time!” And even as Éponine rolled her eyes, she jumped to her feet, clearly excited, and the three of them traipsed over to the entrance to the planetarium.

Grantaire had never been to a planetarium, and he wasn’t sure what to expect at all. What he saw as they walked into the room was a gigantic dome, with seats like in a cinema but tilted way back. They choose seats near the centre, and sat down, leaning back, Gavroche in the middle between the two of them. The seat really was inordinately comfortable. They waited in an expectant hushed quiet as the rest of the audience filed in, and then they watched as a woman wearing a science centre polo shirt made her way to the front of the dome. She waved at them, introduced herself as Freya, and then dimmed the lights.

And when the show started, Grantaire couldn’t help his gasp of awe, and he could hear Éponine’s intake of breath as well. It was _gorgeous._ All those stars, on the inside of the dome but so _real_ , so near and so far away.

If he was more poetic, he would have better words, but as it was, all he could do was tip his head back and gaze up at them. He’d always lived in or near a city, never seen this many stars. He’d only ever seen the basics, seen the Plough and Cassiopeia, but this was a whole range of galaxy clusters and constellations he’d never _heard_ of before. The science centre woman was narrating and pointing out things, asking questions, and Gavroche beside him was piping up, saying things like ‘cosmic background radiation’, which Grantaire would definitely be interested in at a time when he wasn’t overwhelmed by the stars, the _fake_ projections of stars which nevertheless felt oh-so-real.

He gazed up at the creamy splash of the Milky Way, as the science centre lady pointed them towards various important stars and constellations, and felt distant and present at the same time. Somehow, insignificant and important, aware of the _size_ of the universe and his place in it. It was a vaguely disconcerting, reassuring concept, and the kind of feeling he’d only really felt in the past when high, or drunk. It was exhilarating.

The show ended, and the lights came up, and there was a polite round of applause for the science centre woman, and Grantaire blinked, coming back to himself, feeling dazed and out of it. There was a low hum of activity as everyone started chatting and gathering their stuff to leave, and Grantaire shook himself alert, turning to look at Éponine and Gavroche, who both also looked a little shaken, he was gratified to see.

“That was _brilliant,_ ” Gavroche breathed, and all Grantaire could do was agree.

***

Grantaire remained buoyed up and excited about space for a good few weeks after the science centre. He watched a documentary, and a TV show, and found some very accessible and easy books from the library, and took advantage of every single quiet moment at work to tell Bossuet in great detail about all that he’d learned. Bossuet seemed to take this as a personal challenge, and started to tell Grantaire everything he knew about sea slugs, which was a truly horrifying amount, and more than Grantaire had even known existed to know about sea slugs.

It was great, really. He and Bossuet had been working at this bar for three years together, and they’d clicked in a way that Grantaire had only really felt with Bahorel before or since.

Bossuet was an exceptionally clumsy and unlucky man, and despite it he was always cheerful and optimistic. He smashed at least one glass a shift in the bar, and was always covered with inexplicable bruises, and he had broken his phone five times and lost his keys seven times since Grantaire had known him.

But he was brilliant with the customers, and could pour even better pints than Grantaire, and he was Grantaire’s favourite person he worked with. The bar they worked at was quiet mostly during the day at the weekend and on weekday evenings as well, unless there was a football game on. Grantaire didn’t follow football, but he didn’t mind it, especially since this pub, unlike most in Glasgow, operated on a strictly all teams allowed policy, and had a refreshingly modern approach to sectarianism. People got drunk, sure, but the second anyone started flinging abuse, they were chucked right out.

It was one of the best pubs Grantaire had ever worked in. The old men who spent hours there every evening were harmless and tipped well and often told him improbable and sometimes obviously fake stories about their younger years. They were relics of another age, really, having three pints in the pub while their wives cooked dinner, as they had done for thirty or forty years and would do until they died. Grantaire was happy to talk whatever shit they wanted -although he usually drew the line at politics. Some of them were socialists born and bred, working class men who hated the Tories and the government, but there were just as many who’d been working class and changed their tune the second they got some money, and it wasn’t worth the risk, especially when he couldn’t very well argue with paying customers. Or at least, he couldn’t argue _properly_ with customers. His boss was pretty lax about a lot of things, but Grantaire was pretty sure yelling at Tories would be crossing the line.

Fridays and Saturdays were more like classic bar nights, full of teenagers and students and adults on nights out. They weren’t close enough to the city to have people coming all the way here, but they were right next to the train station that plenty of younger people would have a few drinks here before going into the city to the clubs.

Grantaire preferred the weekdays, mostly. Sure, the tips were much better when it was busy and the time flew past, but when it was quiet he could chat with his friends about all sorts of crap, as long as he kept an eye on the customers.

Today, Bossuet was bemoaning his lack of a significant other. This was a topic that came up often, and it was definitely one that Grantaire had just as much to complain about.

He’d hooked up with the occasional person after nights out, but he was too _old_ now for that scene and the fact that he didn’t drink anymore made night outs like that awkward, and sometimes (always) difficult. The thought made him laugh at himself. Two years ago he never thought he’d be _here._

He hadn’t properly dated anyone since he’d moved in with Éponine and became Gavroche’s guardian. It was hard to bring someone home to your platonic life partner and your adopted child. People tended not to understand, and Éponine and Gavroche were too important to him to risk it.

It didn’t bother him too much, but he was more than happy to join in with Bossuet’s complaints. The other man was just as unlucky in love as he was in life. He was a hopeless romantic , which only made everything worse. He had a tendency to fall in love way too fast, tell the person that he loved them way too fast, and then it ended every time in his heartbreak. But he kept smiling, and kept believing that he would find someone. Grantaire admired him for it.

He worked in the bar a few nights every week, just a part-time thing on the side of his full time degree in family law. He’d already taken twice as long to do the degree as was the standard, due to various family issues and health issues, but he was very philosophical about the whole thing, and he refused to let it get him down. Grantaire admired him for that, as well. Grantaire was never very good at sticking things out when they got difficult.

He rarely told Bossuet that, of course. Their friendship was based on puns and Disney references. They didn’t get serious very often, and he wasn’t about to start that now in their place of work. They would pull pints, and Grantaire would learn more facts about space, and Bossuet would start telling him about sea cucumbers. It was a pretty good job, when your friends worked there too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Musichetta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Maura," you ask, "are you just having your characters work jobs that you've worked, so you can get nostalgic now that you're working somewhere you (mostly) hate and don't get free coffee or any tips?" to which I respond "fuck off please and let me have this."
> 
> All I write is self-insert. I'm owning it now.
> 
> Enjoy this update! Comments always appreciated! <3

Éponine sighed, biting on the end of her pen as she flicked through her textbook. It was 4pm, always a quiet time in a coffee shop, so she had her books and laptop spread over the counter and was working on her university assignment. She’d been working at this coffee shop for over five years, and she’d been the main supervisor here for two years, and the boss had been very understanding when she’d announced her decision to start a part-time degree in social work. He trusted her, and as long as she kept an eye on the tables and the customers, and served them when they came in, he was more than happy for her to study on shift.

The first few hours of a weekday shift were usually fairly hectic, and there were always at least two of them working. She’d come in, turn on the coffee machine, and then potter about bringing the cakes out and setting everything up. Around seven thirty it would start getting busy, with the early birds for the offices around the coffee shop, and with people going to the gym across the street before work. There would always be a lunch rush as well, a few busy hours midday, but in the afternoon, the activity tailed off. They went down to usually just one person in the shop unless the other person was new, and other than a few students scattered across the shop with laptops and giant mugs of coffee they would nurse for hours, and a young family spreading crumbs everywhere, it was blissfully quiet and calm.

She finally found the page she was looking for and spent a fairly contented fifteen minutes making notes, before doing a sweep of the shop and collecting a few plates and cups, and wiping down some tables. She was straightening up some chairs when the door opened, and Musichetta walked in. She saw Éponine, and beamed at her, and Éponine grinned back, walking back over to the counter.

Musichetta was wearing shocking purple trousers and a pink blouse, the colours bright against her brown skin. She always dressed so exuberantly, to match her personality, and today the look was completed with a yellow cardigan. She had a giant handbag over one shoulder, and two instrument cases in her hands and one on her back.

“Cello, today?” Éponine asked, and Musichetta laughed.

“Yeah, and I’m teaching a piano lesson later as well. Good thing the kid has a piano in her house, because I can’t carry a fucking _piano_ home.”

Musichetta played in at least three orchestras, and two bands, and tutored, at last count, seven kids of varying abilities and instruments, all on top of her actual job as music teacher at the same school that Gavroche went to. One of the reasons Éponine had even sent Gav to that school was on Chetta’s recommendations. They’d been friends for years, and Éponine had trusted her.

“Are you wanting a coffee? Decaf?” Éponine said, reaching over to knock the used coffee grounds out of the group head.

“No, not decaf, just the normal. I’m tired, and I’ll need it tonight. And I’ll sit in for a bit.” Éponine nodded, and slid the group head under the bean grinder, hitting the button. She went through the oh-so-familiar steps of making the espresso shots, steaming the milk (oat milk, always, for Musichetta), adding the chocolate powder. She poured the milk carefully into the mug, taking her time and smiling at the perfect leaf. Even after all these years, it was still very satisfying when the latte art turned out lovely.

She slid it across the counter to Musichetta, who had shed her instruments and bag onto a table and was now surveying the cakes. “Same drill as always,” Éponine said as Musichetta took a sip and made an appreciative face. “Coffee’s free for friends, cakes aren’t.”

“Yeah yeah, I know,” Chetta said, rolling her eyes. “It’s probably for the best anyway, I’m going to make some kind of Thai curry thing tonight, found a recipe on Pinterest-” and she scowled as Éponine said ‘Pinterest’ at the same time as she did. “Alright, rude.”

Éponine laughed. “Come on, you spend all your time on Pinterest, it’s always an obvious guess.”

Musichetta quirked her lips in agreement, taking a big gulp of her coffee. “Are you busy, or do you want to chat? I can go sit down if you’re busy.”

“No, it’s fine,” Éponine said, checking everything was saved before closing her laptop and moving it under the counter. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Hmm, yeah, it’s been hectic, you know all the music performing exams are at a different time than the normal exams. All my fifth and sixth years are flapping about. They’ve got nothing to worry about, but try telling them that.”

“And how’s the seduction of the biology teacher going?” Éponine said slyly, and Musichetta laughed.

“You _know_ his name is Joly, why do you never call him that?”

“It’s funnier,” Éponine shrugged, but Musichetta was avoiding her eyes. “Wait, _did_ something happen? Really?!”

“Not… _really_ …”

Éponine gasped, feeling gleeful and oddly thrilled by the hint of gossip. She didn’t usually care so much, but Musichetta and Joly had been dancing around each other since they started at the school. Joly taught science to the first and second years and biology to third year and up. He was a good teacher, kind and competent, but he had a PhD in some obscure branch of medicine and was incredibly smart. Just like Musichetta, who had been a brilliant musician known nationwide, both classically and for her pop-punk band, Joly was revered in his field, but they’d both ended up in this high school in Glasgow, and they were both happy here.

But also, they were both terrible at showing their feelings, or recognising that in others, apparently. Chetta had been talking about the cute smart biology teacher to Éponine for ages, but they’d become good friends without even a hint of anything more. Éponine had only met Joly once- he was a short, unassuming man with glasses and a kind smile- and she could see in the softness of his eyes when he looked at Musichetta that he liked her, but neither of them had ever made a move, and it seemed like they were destined to only be friends.

“What happened?!” Éponine said, practically leaning over the counter in her haste to find out more.

Musichetta took another sip of her coffee, hiding her face from Éponine, and then she mumbled something under her breath, looking uncharacteristically unsure. It was _bizarre_ seeing her like this. She was usually so self-assured.

Éponine raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, I don’t speak muffled-in-coffee,” she said sarcastically, and Musichetta glared at her with more of her normal fire.

“I asked him to go for a drink with me!”

Éponine gaped at her, and then grinned. “Look at you go!”

“But then I panicked and made it a friendly outing to a bar with other people as well.”

Éponine groaned. “Chetta!”

“I know!” Musichetta dropped her head to the counter with a bang, almost spilling her own half-drunk coffee. “I’ve never been like this about a boy before. I’ve even dated people since I’ve known Joly, but I just… I just really like him. And I don’t know how to act around him in a way that’s not friendly! What if we’ve been friends for too long?”

Éponine was quiet for a moment, trying to think of what to say. She’d never had to comfort Chetta about boys before. It had always been the other way round, the whole time they’d known each other, since they’d met at a party thrown by a girl neither of them knew anymore.

“I think that you need to get a grip,” she said, and Musichetta looked up at her, affronted, opening her mouth to speak. Éponine glared at her, and she closed her mouth again, propping herself up on her hands to gaze up at Éponine. “First of all, you _know_ there’s no such thing as the friend zone, so you can _never_ have been friends with someone for too long before dating them. He likes you, you like him, go on a date, if it’s shit it’s shit and then you’ll just keep being friends. There’s no _point_ in stressing about it.”

Chetta looked at her in silence, before letting out a low whistle. “Wow, when did you become so smart?”

“Fuck off,” Éponine laughed good-naturedly, and then took advantage of the thoughtful quiet look on Chetta’s face to do another sweep of the coffee shop. She stacked all the dirty cups and plates in the dishwasher and started it, before wandering back over to Musichetta.

“You’re right,” Musichetta said suddenly. “I’m being ridiculous. Thank you, Ép,” and she straightened up, downing her coffee with a grimace. It was probably cold by now. “I have to go, but we should have a movie night or something. When you’re not working.”

Éponine smiled. “Yes, please, with some tequila as well.”

Musichetta laughed, picking up all her instruments and her bag. “Bye, Éponine!” she called as she left, and Éponine shook her head fondly, picking up her laptop again. She really did have work to do.

***

Éponine got home from work tired but happy. It had been nice seeing Musichetta after so long, and while obviously she wanted the best for her friend, it was oddly reassuring seeing her uncertain about romance. Éponine had never _once_ been certain about romance. Her longest relationship had been with Marius, and that had been brilliant and scary and ever so slightly wrong. They were much better as friends. Éponine often thought that she’d maybe just latched onto Marius as the first person other than Grantaire to be _nice_ to her.

But she wasn’t going to date anyone who wasn’t okay with Gavroche, and so she didn’t date often. She didn’t mind so much- she was always exhausted anyway, and she didn’t have the emotional or physical energy to give to a partner. And everyone always wanted _something_ from her, and sometimes she couldn’t give anything. A partner deserved more than she was able to give.

She banged into the house, the door shutting behind her with a slam that made her wince. The first thing she did was go upstairs, three steps at a time, and get changed into pyjamas. She wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

She could smell something delicious cooking, the smell curling through the house, and she splashed some water on her face and went downstairs to investigate, feeling much better with her fluffy socks on.

Grantaire was making curry, with something upbeat and poppy playing through his speakers as he danced around, brandishing a knife in a vaguely threatening way. Gavroche was at the table, frowning at the jotter and workbook in front of him. Both of them smiled to see her, and she felt the lift in her heart.

“Éponine, can you help me with my homework please? It’s maths, and Grantaire can’t add,” Gavroche rolled his eyes and Grantaire pouted, but he wasn’t wrong. Grantaire was very intelligent, and had an incredible ability to remember facts and recite them perfectly, but he wasn’t very good at numbers.

“Yeah, fine,” she griped, crossing over to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of wine with a relieved sigh. Grantaire didn’t drink anymore, but he was fine to be around it- not like a few years ago when he’d had to stop working in bars. She poured herself a healthy glass, and then took a sip, closing her eyes happily. “I’m working later tomorrow,” she explained in response to Grantaire’s raised eyebrow, and he nodded and went back to his cooking.

She slid into the seat beside Gav, and pulled the worksheet towards her, squinting at the problems. She’d always been good at maths, but it had been years since she’d done this sort of thing, and it always took her a while to settle back into it.

“Ah, I see,” she said, suddenly getting it, and pulled a scrap bit of paper towards her. “Here, watch,” she commanded, and Gav did, leaning it as she explained her working, checking he got it.

Grantaire was cooking what was no doubt a lovely meal, Gavroche was doing his homework, and she had a glass of wine. It was turning into a perfect evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a very good week off work and now I'm back and stressed immediately again, but I've got the next few chapters already written so should stick to regular Tuesday updates!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras has a breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I started work at 8am today but actually I start at 9am so I'm posting this while fuming about my lost hour of sleep.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter! Comments always very appreciated.

It was two hours after the end of the school day on a Thursday, and Enjolras was alone in the social studies base. Everyone else in the department had left, and he had his papers spread all over the tables in the centre of the room, and a huge mug of coffee beside him despite his usually strict rules on coffee at this time. He had far too much to do. He needed the caffeine tonight.

He had to mark all of the fourth year essays on the politics of New Zealand- and they were difficult to read, far too verbose and nonsensical with terrible points of view and arguments. He had to make a mock-test for the third years to practice, one that wasn’t too hard so it panicked them, but hard enough that it would startle them into more intention. He had to read the drafts of his sixth years’ projects and give feedback by tomorrow, and most of that feedback would no doubt be things like _please, please, please, make this shorter_ and _add more commas_ and _this is not a word_. He had a doctor’s appointment on Saturday and he was meeting his parents for dinner on Sunday and running the debate club tomorrow lunchtime and volunteering at the food kitchen as he always did on Saturday and about a million other things that were all piling up on him.

He was making an internal list, a tactic that usually worked well but that was failing him today. The list was too _long,_ and he could feel his thoughts spiralling, too fast, too much, too loud.

He was on the verge of a panic attack, breaths coming quick and short, when there was a knock at the door. He managed to pull himself together slightly. “Come in,” he croaked, straightening up and trying to school his face into an expression that was a bit less obviously on the brink of a breakdown.

But then Combeferre came in, and he knew there was no chance of hiding it from Combeferre, who knew him as well as Cosette did. They’d spent their years at university living together, after all, when Enjolras had been in the worst state of his life, having a crisis about his future and running the debate club with an iron fist and forcing a spin-off group from the main LGBT+ society and dealing with the unnecessary drama of that schism. Combeferre knew when Enjolras was about to lose it. And the second he walked in, closed the door behind him, and looked at Enjolras, Enjolras knew there was no point in trying to hide it.

And so he burst into tears, giant messy uncontrollable sobs of the kind that he so rarely allowed, shoulders shaking and face crumpling as Combeferre came over to him in two quick strides and wrapped him in his arms.

Enjolras hadn’t realised the tension he was holding until he released it, collapsed into Combeferre’s arms and let himself be held up by his friend. Combeferre, despite what his cardigans and knitted waistcoats and baggy shirts suggested, was strong and broad, and he held Enjolras tight. Enjolras was sure he must be uncomfortable, crouching down beside Enjolras’s seat, but still he stayed, as Enjolras calmed down slightly, his body-shaking sobs gradually becoming less violent, and then becoming hiccups and then finally stopping, leaving him sniffling and drained and still clutching at Combeferre’s arms.

Combeferre waited until Enjolras extricated himself, and then he got to his feet, pulling over another chair and sitting down next to Enjolras. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket (he really was an old man at heart) and passed it to Enjolras, who took it gratefully, blowing his nose and wiping the tears from his cheeks.

Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, but Combeferre cut him off before he could say anything. “Don’t apologise,” he said, not even looking at Enjolras, and Enjolras shut his mouth with an audible click.

“I wasn’t going to,” he said after a moment of silence, and Combeferre turned to him with one single perfectly raised eyebrow. “I wasn’t!” he protested sulkily, and Combeferre smiled gently.

“You don’t have to apologise. It’s never a hardship to help you, you know that.”

Enjolras bit back his automatic sarcastic response, heart _aching_ with the gratitude and love he had for his friend. “Thank you,” he said instead, voice quiet and croaking.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” Combeferre asked, eyes reassuring and caring. Enjolras knew that Ferre would never force him to speak, not if he really didn’t want to, but he also knew that it would do him good to tell Combeferre what was wrong. It wasn’t even anything serious, after all. He was just busy. Everyone was.

And so he told Combeferre, honest and harsh towards himself in a way he would never be towards his friends and colleagues, and when he ended by saying that it wasn’t anything too bad and he had overreacted, Combeferre made an angry sound deep in his throat.

“You’ve always tried to do too much, Enjolras,” he said. The tone of his voice was level, no judgment there, but Enjolras could tell he was biting back his disapproval. “You need to relax sometimes. No one will think any less of you for taking a break. Everyone needs time to themselves.”

Enjolras dropped his gaze to the table, unable to look at Combeferre when he was still feeling so exposed, with his eyes puffy and his head sore. “I don’t _have_ time,” he whispered, and Combeferre tutted.

“Yes, you do. You can go home, have dinner, have a shower. You can read the sixth years’ work tomorrow morning; I know you don’t have a class first period. The rest of the marking can wait until next week. I’ll take the debate club tomorrow lunchtime, and you can cancel lunch with your parents. You know you don’t want to spend time with them anyway. And if the doctors’ appointment isn’t urgent, you can reschedule.”

“It’s not that easy,” said Enjolras, but he was already feeling better about how quickly Combeferre had come up with solutions, and slightly embarrassed that he’d felt that there was nothing he could do. But then again, he’d always been like that, never feeling like he could back out of promised plans or delay things at all. Combeferre was always good at reminding him that he didn’t need to give 100% to everything and everyone, all the time.

“It is that easy,” Combeferre replied, placing his hand comfortingly on Enjolras’ shoulder. “It is.”

***

Enjolras had done as Combeferre suggested (or, if he was honest with himself, what Combeferre had commanded). He’d left the school and all his work behind and had a relaxing evening watching an objectively crap but oddly entertaining Netflix show, and he was back in on Friday with a more optimistic view. He told his classes that they’d get their marks and essays back later. He handed feedback to his sixth years and told them that next week he would have more detailed criticisms for them. And the third years were very pleased to find that their test wouldn’t be for another week.

And now the bell was ringing for last period, and the kids were almost running away, excited about the weekend, and he was packing up his stuff, not bringing any work home, excited as well despite himself. He’d not taken a weekend off in a while. Combeferre had been right. He needed this.

He waited until most of the kids had left, not wanting to get caught in the crush in the stairwell, and then headed down, a bounce in his step as he signed out and walked over to his car. He was almost there when he spotted someone leaning against a beat-up old car a few places over from his. Grantaire. He sighed and sped up slightly. He didn’t think he had the energy for this. The other man was _confusing_ at the best of times, never mind when Enjolras was already dazed and fragile.

The click of his car unlocking was louder than he thought, and he winced, especially when he saw Grantaire’s head turn.

“Oh, hi, Apollo!”

Enjolras closed his eyes briefly and wished for strength. “Hello, Grantaire. Parents aren’t supposed to use this car park in school hours, you know.”

Grantaire laughed. “Ah, I’ve just arrived and there were empty spaces. I figured the teachers would be leaving sharp on a Friday. Besides, Gavroche is just coming, he forgot something in his locker.” Grantaire rolled his eyes, but he didn’t look too bothered. In fact he looked very relaxed, leaning back against the door of the car, soaking in the meagre heat from the pale sun. He looked much better, in fact, than he had when Enjolras had last seen him, when he’d been exhausted and ragged and clutching his coffee like a lifeline.

“How are you?” Enjolras asked stiffly as he put his bag in the boot. Why was it so hard to talk to this man? His hands were _sweaty_ , for goodness’ sake, like he was a teenager himself.

“Ah, I’m alright. Plodding along. It’s been a long week. You know how it is.”

Enjolras nodded. He did know how it is. “What do you do?”

“With my life, you mean?” Grantaire said, and then laughed, deep in his throat. “Ah, Apollo, way to make a man feel self-conscious.”

“I didn’t mean-” Enjolras objected, but Grantaire waved his protestations away.

“It’s alright. I work in a bar. Bringing joy to the people, you know. Joy, and alcohol.”

“Hmm. I don’t really drink.”

Grantaire laughed again. He had a very nice laugh, Enjolras couldn’t help noticing, unselfconscious and full and happy, as if he was delighted with the universe, and happy with the situation he found himself in. Or maybe it was just that Enjolras himself didn’t often laugh out loud, especially not with veritable strangers, and so he noticed it in others. “I don’t drink either. Not anymore. Plus, working in a bar makes you _never_ want to drink in a bar. Take my advice, Apollo. Never get the house beer on draught. It will _always_ be horrible.”

Enjolras couldn’t hold back a chuckle at that, and Grantaire beamed at him, looking inexplicably pleased to have made Enjolras laugh.

“Oh, there’s Gavroche now. And I should let you go. Enjoy your weekend, Apollo.”

“Why do you call me that?” Enjolras asked, unable to supress his curiosity.

“What?” Grantaire said, cocking an eyebrow and feigning confusion.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Why do you call me Apollo? I’m hardly musical, and I’m definitely not poetic.”

Grantaire grinned. “You know your Greek gods, I see?” Enjolras wouldn’t admit it, since Grantaire would definitely make fun of him, but he had avidly read the Percy Jackson books when younger and all that knowledge had been absorbed at such a formative age that he would probably never forget it.

“Ah, well, you know, you’re all gorgeous and stern and golden. Very god-like.” Grantaire was still smirking.

Enjolras pursed his lips, feeling his cheeks heat and hoping it wasn’t noticeable. “Don’t mock,” he snapped, the laughter from earlier vanishing. He hated being teased. He barely tolerated it from Courfeyrac, and they’d been friends for years.

“Ah, I’m not teasing. Just speaking the truth.” Grantaire grinned at him, not a trace of the awkwardness that Enjolras was feeling evident on the other man’s face. “Goodbye!”

And he slid into the driver’s seat as Gavroche appeared, merely shooting an unreadable look before he shouted ‘shotgun’ and flung his backpack into the back seat.

“There’s no one else here, you don’t need to call shotgun,” Grantaire groused, and Gavroche’s no doubt snarky reply was cut off as he pulled the door closed with a bang, and Grantaire started the car. It made an unhealthy noise as he reversed out of the parking space, and then he waved at Enjolras and they were gone.

Enjolras stared after him. He seemed to be making a habit of it.

He shook out of his stupor and carefully closed the boot of his car. It wasn’t quite as bedraggled a car as the one Grantaire was driving (he was sure he’d seen Éponine driving that one before, and he didn’t think it was Grantaire’s car) but it certainly wasn’t fancy, and it didn’t deal well with the slamming of its doors.

He sank into the driver’s seat with the sigh, turning the radio on to the usual classical station he liked listening to as he pulled out of the car park. He was going to have a lovely relaxing weekend and he wasn’t going to think about Grantaire at all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee shop shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the last one I have pre-written so I'm gonna have to.... attempt to write to a schedule now I guess? And given I just got a switch and I'm obsessed with Animal Crossing.... I make no promises.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and comments are always appreciated! <3

Cosette was sitting in the staff room before the first bell when Musichetta appeared. This was a surprising occurrence- Musichetta usually spent breaks and lunch in the music department, either sitting in the music base in case pupils arrived with questions about pieces of music or instrument care, or supervising practices, or leading a choir or a band. She had a travel mug of coffee, and looked sleepy. She came and sat next to Cosette, who smiled up at her and put her finger in her book to hold her page.

“I’m fucking knackered,” Musichetta said, and Cosette laughed. The two of them didn’t spend a lot of time together- Cosette was equally likely to be up in the science staff base at breaks. But Cosette sometimes came to help the kids with choir, and they were friendly in the way that all the staff at a relatively small school were. There wasn’t the space or the energy for excessive drama- the teenagers provided more than enough of that.

“Me too,” Cosette admitted. “I’m jealous of your coffee,” and she gestured at her own decaf filter coffee in a chipped mug from the staff room cupboard. Caffeine made her jittery, and didn’t help with her anxiety.

Musichetta laughed. She had a very musical, full-bodied laugh. “You should go to my favourite coffee shop, where I got this. They do a good decaf,” she added, seeing Cosette’s expression. “And it’s a proper decaf, not those shitty pods some places use.” Musichetta also swore like a sailor. She never swore around the pupils, and so it seemed to all come out when they weren’t there, as if she was saving them up. Cosette liked it. She’d never got in the habit of swearing. Her dad had hated it and she’d spent too long with him growing up to be able to fit it easily into her vocabulary like other people did.

She wondered often if Musichetta swore as much as she did in the staff room, as when she had meetings with Cosette’s dad. She figured, though, that it was probably different talking to the head teacher than it was to a colleague. As much as Valjean cared about his staff members, asking after them and taking an interest in their lives, there was still the detachment that he had to have, and he would more usually be found in his office than in the staff room with the rest of them.

It was weird enough for her, having her dad as the head teacher, and they dealt with it by acting purely professionally at work. She doubted whether people would know if they weren’t told. After all, they didn’t have the same surname, and they looked nothing alike, so it was likely that people would never guess.

“Ooh, I might check it out,” she said, brought back to the conversation as Musichetta took another drink of her coffee and Cosette smelled it, the gorgeous scent of a proper coffee with ground beans and steamed milk.

“You should. Éponine works there,” Musichetta added slyly, and Cosette prayed that she wouldn’t blush.

“Oh, that’s Gavroche’s sister, yeah?” Cosette said, trying for casual and sure that she missed it by a mile, if Musichetta’s smirk was any indication.

“Yep,” Chetta said, popping the syllable. “She’s one of my best friends. You met her at parents’ night, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Cosette said, striving still for a nonchalant expression as she felt the heat rise on her cheeks.

“Well, I’m sure she’d like to see you again.”

“What?!” Cosette yelped, turning to stare at Chetta, and then, with the worst timing in the world, the bell rang. Musichetta got to her feet, grinning at the effect she’d had on Cosette, who was now _definitely_ blushing. “Did she say something about me?”

“Bye, Cosette, have a good day!” Musichetta said gleefully, drifting out the door, and Cosette stared after her in shock. Had Éponine mentioned her to Musichetta?

She left the staff room in a daze, barely managing to say hi to the pupils as she walked to her class, and when she checked her phone at break time, she had a message from Musichetta, with the address of the coffee shop.

***

Éponine was slicing a slab of millionaire’s shortbread, using a ruler to make sure the slices were perfect. She wasn’t a perfectionist about most things, but when it came to cutting tray bakes… she arranged them on a tray, and put in with the rest of the cakes on the counter, writing a little price tag and sticking it to the tray. She was working the closing shift today, which meant she’d had a rare lie-in and had felt very chipper all day, so much so that the girl working with her had asked if she was okay. She tried not to be too offended by that.

The girl on shift with her, Zéphine, was mopping the shop floor. This was a fairly time-consuming task and one they could only do when it was quiet- so a weekday evening was perfect.

For once, Éponine had no uni work to do, so she was sipping coffee (decaf, at this time of the day- she’d learned that the hard way after one day she’d vibrated all evening and not got to sleep til 4am for a 7am start at work the next day), and scrolling through instagram when the door opened, and in walked Cosette.

Éponine would deny to her _grave_ that she choked on her coffee. She was suddenly, desperately glad that Zéphine was away at the back of the shop and didn’t see her. The other girl would definitely never have let her live that down.

Cosette walked up to the counter, bouncy and beaming at Éponine, and Éponine was so incredibly grateful, not for the first time, that despite the heat in her cheeks, her dark skin didn’t show a blush.

“Hi Éponine!” Cosette said happily. She was wearing another dress, this one with flowers, and she looked as lovely as she had done when Éponine saw her last. “Musichetta said you do nice decaf coffee here, so I thought I’d come and check it out myself!” Éponine told herself that was imagining Cosette’s look at her when she said _check it out_. She must be imagining things.

“Yeah, we do, what would you like?” Éponine said, switching to her professional persona in an attempt to supress her pounding heart.

Cosette squinted up at the menu board behind Éponine’s head, and Éponine tried not to stare at her. “What would you recommend?”

Éponine turned to glance up at the board as well, even though she knew everything they served off by heart. “Do you like sweet things?”

Cosette laughed. “Yes, very much so,” she said, and Éponine smiled.

“Maybe a caramel mocha? That’s what I have when I want to treat myself. We don’t really properly officially sell it, but it’s decadent and brilliant.”

Cosette nodded eagerly. “Yes please!”

“Are you sitting in? Do you want a milk alternative?”

“Yes, and yes,” Cosette answered, “do you have oat milk? I’m not vegan, but the first time I had oat milk it changed my life.”

Éponine laughed. “Yeah, we do. I’ll get that for you.” She poured some decaf beans into their special separate grinder and started making the coffee, feeling the weight of Cosette’s gaze on her and trying to ignore. She took extra care steaming the milk, and extra care pouring it, making a perfect triple heart. Maybe she wanted to impress Cosette, but she wasn’t going to admit that.

She brought the coffee back over to Cosette, who beamed again at the sight of it. “That looks wonderful! How much do I owe you?”

Éponine waved her hand. “Coffee’s free for friends,” she said, and Cosette bit her lip.

“Well, in that case…” and she rummaged in her bag, dropping a few pound coins into the tip jar with a flourish. “Thank you!”

“You don’t have to-” Éponine protested weakly, but Cosette shook her head.

“If friends get free coffee, then friends tip,” and Éponine didn’t have anything to say to that, still stuck thinking about how quickly and easily Cosette had accepted and reciprocated her offer of friendship.

Cosette blew on her coffee and then took a tentative sip of it, smiling widely and taking a bigger sip. “That’s _great,_ Éponine, I love the caramel in the chocolate!” She took another drink, inhaling deeply. “And the decaf really is good, I’m very impressed,” and before Éponine knew it, she was sucked into a conversation about the correct ways to roast and grind coffee beans, which was something she knew a lot about and could be very pretentious about. Cosette seemed genuinely happy to talk to her about it, asking questions and seeming interested in how much Éponine knew. She didn’t even laugh at her as Grantaire had done when she told her Cosette about the barista convention she’d gone to, and all the tips and tricks she’d learned there.

They moved on to talk about tea, which Éponine had a passing familiarity with since they sold some in the coffee shop, and _Cosette_ knew a _lot_ about, and was apparently very passionate about. Éponine admitted that she didn’t mind a normal builder’s tea from a teabag with a bit of milk and sugar, and Cosette went off on a spiel about loose leaf tea and diffusers.

It was really just _nice._ It was nice to talk like this with a gorgeous girl, and after the first few minutes Éponine stopped feeling self-conscious. She could get over her stupid immediate crush, and make a new friend.

Cosette was smart and knowledgeable and oddly intense about tea, and she stood at the counter and talked to Éponine while she drank her coffee. She obviously had worked in customer service before, by the way she immediately stopped talking and stepped back whenever a customer appeared, and resumed their conversation like there’d been no interruption. She drank her entire coffee with every appearance of enjoyment, and talked about her work and her father and her friends.

Éponine hadn’t realised that Cosette’s father was Mr Valjean, the head teacher, and Cosette smiled ruefully when Éponine said that. “People tend not to notice. It’s probably for the best. He treats everyone well and he’s a brilliant boss, but there will always be accusations of favouritism when you work at the same place as your family.”

Éponine had only met Mr Valjean a few times, but he had seemed kind and fair and no-nonsense, and from what Grantaire had told her about the time Gavroche had been suspended, he’d handled it admirably. And Cosette clearly adored her father.

Éponine avoided talking about her parents, as she always did. Everyone knew they were bad people- of course that was the assumption people made when they knew she’d adopted Gavroche and they were both estranged from their parents, but few people knew the specifics. Grantaire was one of the only people who knew the details, and that was only because he’d _been_ there through most of it. Éponine didn’t know how she would even start to explain, without getting reactions of shock and pity.

But Cosette didn’t ask, didn’t pry, and Éponine was so grateful to not have to find excuses and reasons to change the subject. Cosette seemed to understand, and Éponine wondered whether Valjean was her biological father, given that there was no visible similarity, but she returned Cosette’s kindness and didn’t ask. After all, she knew better than most that it didn’t matter.

***

Éponine expected, as far as she ever really thought about it, that that would be the last time she saw Cosette. They had had a nice chat, and had got on like a house on fire, but surely that would be all. Maybe Éponine would see Cosette at Gav’s school, and go back to calling her Ms Fauchelevent, and that would be it.

But Cosette came back. She came back to the coffee shop, at least once a week. She obviously came straight from school, wearing a different patterned dress, or she came on the weekend with a soft looking jumper on, and she got a fancy coffee at Éponine’s suggestion, or she got a pot of tea, and Éponine didn’t charge her and she always tipped.

Sometimes they talked, about films and books and life, and sometimes Cosette took a pile of marking to sit at a table with a genuinely apologetic look, as if she really wished she could stand and talk to Éponine. It was bizarre. Of course Éponine wanted to talk to Cosette, who was lovely, but why on earth did Cosette want to talk to her? She’d mentioned this in passing to Grantaire, not wanting to go into too much detail in case it broke the fragile thing that she and Cosette had, and Grantaire had rolled his eyes and told her that Cosette was flirting with her.

Éponine had dismissed that immediately. That was definitely not true.

But Cosette kept coming to the coffee shop, and she kept beaming her lovely smile in Éponine’s direction, and the more Éponine got to know her, the more her stupid crush started to become something _more._ Something that thrilled her, and scared her, and she hoped that Cosette kept on coming to the shop, so that Éponine could keep seeing her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire sprains his ankle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never know if people care about my little life updates in the start notes? But I like talking about myself so you're gonna get them! I was supposed to be getting another tattoo today but instead I have fckn shingles which sounds fake but is like evil chickenpox, so that's fun!
> 
> This is a bit of a short chapter, but next week's is gonna be a long one, I promise!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos appreciated! <3

Grantaire felt his ankle go the second he threw the kick, and as he tried to stop the twist of his body he _knew_ it was bad. His other leg crumpled beneath him and he tried to catch his balance, but the shock of the pain shot up his leg and he sat down heavily, dampening his fall with his hands. Bahorel lowered the pads with a look of concern, as Grantaire straightened his legs, gingerly flexing his ankle. He winced. _Fuck._

He’d sprained both his ankles badly in the past and, in the way of ankles, they’d been fragile since then, prone to wrenches and smaller strains. The twisting of Muay Thai had strengthened them, but they were still weak, and sometimes…

He leant forward, grimacing in agony as he tried to move his ankle. The coach came over as Bahorel crouched beside him.

“Your ankle, again?” the coach said sympathetically, and Grantaire nodded, gritting his teeth. “Help him up, will you,” the coach said to Bahorel, and Bahorel did so, leaving the pads on the ground a he did so.

“Did you cycle today?” Bahorel asked as he helped Grantaire hop off the mats towards the changing room.

“Yeah,” he grunted, breathing deeply as every movement jarred his ankle. Bahorel sighed.

“I’ll give you a lift home,” he said, “we can probably stick your bike in the back if we put the seats down.” Grantaire nodded. Bahorel’s car was huge, almost a _minibus_ really. He was a kids’ football coach, among other things, and he needed the space for the huge amounts of footballs and kit he always had to cart about, as well as for the times he needed to drive the team to various places.

With great difficulty, made slightly easier when Bahorel just lifted Grantaire up and carried him to the car, they managed to get Grantaire, his bike, his helmet and his kit bag into the car, and they were on their way. Grantaire closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the pain. He had a relatively high pain tolerance, and he should be used to this kind of pain given how often he sprained his ankles, but it seemed that every time his brain made him forget that it hurt like _fuck._

Bahorel let him sit in silence. For such a loud, outgoing, _big_ man, he had no problem with quiet. He hummed to himself as he drove, something classical sounding that was very soothing.

“Are you working tomorrow?” Bahorel asked eventually, and Grantaire shook his head.

“No, thank fuck. No football on, so a quiet shift. They didn’t need me. If I rest it up, should be fine for the next day. You know how it is.”

Bahorel made a sound of acknowledgement. He did know. He’d been there all the other times Grantaire had sprained his ankle, limped to training and groused and griped from the side-lines as he itched to be back in. But Grantaire knew not to push it, no matter how impatient he was with his body. He’d be okay to walk about in a couple of days, but he should take a couple of weeks off from Muay Thai, that was for sure. He sighed, and lapsed back into a sulky, pained silence for the remainder of the thankfully short ride home. Bahorel was doing him a favour, and he was a good friend, and he didn’t really deserve to have Grantaire’s frustration taken out on him.

They pulled to a stop outside Grantaire’s house and Bahorel jumped out of the car, opening the boot and pulling everything out in a flurry, as Grantaire opened his own door gingerly and tried to clamber awkwardly out. Bahorel saw him struggling and came to his aid, and any warm residual feelings Grantaire had towards Bahorel faded immediately as the larger man simply picked Grantaire up in a bridal carry and lifted him towards the door.

“Fuck’s sake, Bahorel, put me down, this is ridiculous,” Grantaire hissed, but Bahorel simply chuckled and kept walking down the path, knocking on the door with his elbow.

Éponine opened the door with a swiftness that suggested she’d seen the car pull up, and then led Bahorel into the living room without saying a word. A space had been cleared on the coach and all the usual card games and books and general mess had been moved off the coffee table, and a cushion placed there. There was even a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel.

“I texted her,” Bahorel explained, as he gently set Grantaire down, propping his injured foot up on the table. He’d put his other shoe on but left this foot bare, and he could already see the ankle swelling up. Éponine crouched down beside him and lifted the frozen peas, carefully placing the on the swelling. Grantaire hissed in pain, but the cold was an instant relief, and he smiled up at Éponine. She scowled at him.

“Fucking idiot,” she snapped. “Do you need some pain killers?”

Grantaire nodded, and she straightened up, heading towards the kitchen and the Tupperware full of assorted medication. She returned with a packet of ibuprofen and a glass of water, muttering under her breath as she thrust them unceremoniously into Grantaire’s hands.

“You can leave, if you want,” she said to Bahorel, brusquely, and he grinned at her, well used to her demeanour after all this time. Éponine could be nice, and frequently was, but she and Bahorel had got off on the wrong foot when they’d first met and since then she tended to speak to him very harshly. He’d told Grantaire that he quite liked it though- it was good practice for all the dickheads he coached. Grantaire hadn’t told Éponine this.

Grantaire also thought that Éponine quite liked the opportunity to just be very rude to someone who wouldn’t take offence. Working in hospitality didn’t give a huge amount of chances for that.

“Bye, R,” Bahorel said, “look after yourself.”

Grantaire waved away his concern even as he shifted slightly and winced at the stab of pain. “I always do,” he said, not even trying to keep the laugh out of his voice.

Bahorel chuckled, and then let himself out, saying bye to Éponine and calling up a greeting to Gavroche. Gav worshipped Bahorel in a slightly concerning hero fashion, and he must have his earphones in, to not have come down immediately when he heard Bahorel.

“Take your painkillers,” Éponine said, as she locked the door behind Bahorel, and Grantaire did, adjusting the frozen peas slightly. The numbing cold was helping.

“Thanks,” he said to Éponine as she walked back into the living room.

“You need a shower,” she said, sniffing, but she slumped down beside him anyway, flicking the TV onto an inane quiz show.

He smiled. “Turn it up, will you? Bet I’ll beat you.”

Éponine scoffed. “Bring it on.”

***

“How do you deal with this, Bossuet?” Grantaire moaned, stretching out his wrist with a grimace. He’d borrowed a crutch from Bossuet’s stash of pilfered medical supplies, so he could move around the bar at work and keep the weight off his sore ankle, and his arm was _killing_ him. His wrist was sore from holding himself up, and his hand was sore from the pressure of the crutch, and even his non-injured leg was aching from all the bloody hopping.

He was just glad it wasn’t busy, and all the regulars were very sympathetic. Bossuet came over to him, piles of glasses in his arms, and Grantaire snatched them away before they could fall. Even hampered by his crutch he was still better with glassware and crockery than Bossuet was.

“What do you mean?” Bossuet asked, letting Grantaire take the glasses away from him without question.

“I mean,” Grantaire said, bending over to stack all the dirty glasses in the dishwasher, “you never complain half as much as I’ve been doing, and you’re _always_ injured.”

Bossuet laughed ruefully. “I do complain,” he said, “but also I’m kind of used to it. No use moaning, you know.”

Grantaire straightened up and stared at him. Bossuet had grabbed a cloth, and was wiping down the bar, but he felt Grantaire’s gaze on him and turned to look at him, raising him eyebrows. “What?”

“That’s incredibly philosophical and so goddamn sad,” Grantaire said, impressed, and Bossuet grinned cheerfully.

“That’s my sweet spot,” he said happily, and then gasped. “Oh, I just remembered! I found out something cool about snails!”

“I will swap you your cool snail fact for one I have about ferns,” Grantaire said, frustration gone and pain immediately taking a backseat, and Bossuet beamed at him.

***

 **R:** wait what kind of peppers do you need  
 **Ep:** idk  
 **Ep:** ur the fckn chef  
 **R:** I mean  
 **R:** i cook  
 **R:** I’m not a chef  
 **Ep:** shld take it out of ur tindr bio then  
 **R:** fuck you  
 **Ep:** get red peppers  
 **R:** thanks ily  
 **Ep:** bitch

Grantaire laughed to himself and then realised he was standing right in the middle of the supermarket aisle, and with his crutch and the trolley he was really taking up way too much space. And now he was chuckling to himself as well.

He pulled out his list, written on paper (something that Éponine always mocked him for) and then headed for the vegetable aisle. Red peppers it was.

He was leaning on the trolley, letting it take his weight, crutch tucked under his arm, gliding smoothly along, when he almost crashed into someone.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry-” he started to say, and then saw who it was, his apologetic expression turning into a grin. “Enjolras! Hi! Fancy seeing you here!”

“I live in this city as well,” the other man said stiffly, and Grantaire laughed. God, but Enjolras really was obscenely attractive. Grantaire had spoken to him quite a few times, outside the school. He would deny that he was offering to pick Gav up only because he wanted to see Enjolras. No, it was because he was a good parent, and wanted to spend time with his kid. The fact that he often saw Enjolras, and got the chance to engage in some flirty teasing, was completely unrelated.

Enjolras hadn’t ever responded to Grantaire’s flirting with anything other than silence or exasperation, but that didn’t make it any less fun.

He wasn’t sure if Enjolras was straight, or in a relationship, or simply not interested in Grantaire in any way, but sometimes when Grantaire said something especially flirty, the other man’s ears turned slightly pink. It was delightful.

“What did you do to your leg?” Enjolras asked, gesturing to the awkward way Grantaire was balancing, still with his crutch under his arm, standing on one leg.

“Ah, you don’t need to small talk with me, Apollo,” Grantaire said, grinning, and Enjolras scoffed.

“It’s politeness. I’d do the same for any parent I met in the shop.”

Grantaire laughed, pleased to have elicited any type of response from Enjolras. His ears were _already_ pink. “But we have a special bond, you know.”

Enjolras looked slightly alarmed. “What? What kind of special bond?”

“I don’t know yet,” Grantaire winked, pushing his luck and feeling inordinately proud when the blush started to spread across Enjolras’s high cheekbones. “But we can see. Only time will tell.”

“I have to go,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth, still red, and he turned on his heel and practically fled away down the aisle.

Grantaire collected his red peppers with a slightly manic smile on his face, and left the shop feeling very pleased with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun and vaguely horrifying fact about snails: the common garden snail can have up to 14,000 teeth.
> 
> Fun and mind-blowing fact about ferns: they’ve been around for longer than dinosaurs! DINOSAURS


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette finally makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still Tuesday, so this isn't late! And it's longer than usual, so...
> 
> This is going to be my last update on this for a while. I'm not abandoning it, I'm just taking a bit of a break. I've never posted something chaptered before, and trying to maintain a regular posting schedule is stressing me out, which is the last thing I want when writing fic! I've got loads of plans for this, and I promise I will be back, but it won't be weekly anymore.
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments so far, they really do make my day! <3

“It has been a truly appalling day,” Cosette announced, dumping her bag and coat at an empty table and coming to lean on her customary spot at the counter, away from the till and the cakes but close enough to talk to Éponine while she made coffee and sorted dirty and clean dishes. Éponine made a sympathetic noise, and then raised an eyebrow.

“What do you want to drink, then?”

Cosette thought about it for a second. “The caramel mocha, please,” she said decisively. “That one’s my favourite.” It really was. She loved all of the sugary concoctions that Éponine made her, but she had a soft spot for the very first one she’d tried. She’d been so on edge, coming into the café, overthinking everything Musichetta had said, but she _liked_ Éponine, and so she’d went, and it had been great. And now it was over a month later and she was in this coffee shop at least twice a week- once in the evening after school and occasionally on the weekend.

It was a nice coffee shop, with loads of comfy couches where she could spread out her marking and still have space for her drink, but she’d be lying to herself that that was the reason she kept coming. There were nicer places she could go for coffee, closer to school and closer to her home. But she kept coming back to see Éponine.

Her initial surface-deep attraction to the other woman had mellowed into something deeper, more real, and a little more worrying. This wasn’t the normal kind of crush she had on gorgeous women she saw in the street and never spoke to. No, she _knew_ Éponine, and Éponine knew her, and Cosette really just liked Éponine. A lot.

And she had decided that she was going to ask Éponine out. It was all very well them talking in Éponine’s place of work, when they were always being interrupted by customers and when Éponine always had to keep one eye on the door and kept having to check the tables. Or when they’d first met at the school, talking about one of Cosette’s _students,_ about Éponine’s brother…

No, Cosette wanted to take Éponine out to dinner and talk to her in a setting that was new to them both. On a proper date.

But she kept chickening out. Sometimes it seemed like Éponine liked her too- the way her gazed rested on Cosette’s features, the way her hand lingered when she passed Cosette her coffee. Fuck, the way she _kept_ giving Cosette free coffee seemed like a good sign. But then sometimes she would call Cosette her _friend_ with an emphasis on it, or mention a colleague or acquaintance in a way that appeared less than casual, until Cosette just wasn’t sure what to think.

So yeah, she wanted to ask Éponine out, but she didn’t want to lose her friendship, and she was worried she’d misread the situation, as she so often did. Growing up with basically only Enjolras as her friend hadn’t really conditioned her to the so-called normal ways of friendships.

Éponine slid the coffee across the counter to her, a perfect heart on the surface as always. (And Cosette tried not to read too much into that either. With customers, Éponine tried ferns, feathers, even attempted some swans for regulars who didn’t mind when she messed up. But on Cosette’s coffee, the latte art was _always_ some variation on the theme of hearts. Cosette was pretty sure she was projecting.)

She took a sip, and smiled automatically. Éponine really did make a gorgeous coffee, and Cosette told her so.

Éponine smiled bashfully, rinsing out the milk jug and changing the subject as she so often did when Cosette complimented her. She had such a lovely smile, and she was so talented in so many unseen ways. Cosette had seen the other baristas steam milk, and knew it wasn’t as easy to make the art as Éponine made it look, but whenever Cosette gushed about how brilliant Éponine was, the other woman looked incredibly awkward. Cosette had made a mental note of it, and tried to compliment Éponine as much as she could. She deserved it.

“What happened today, then, to make it such an appalling day?” Éponine asked, and Cosette let her change the subject, as she went off into a spiel about complaining parents, while Éponine nodded understandingly, with all the grace of someone who was a guardian of a pupil at the same school but who would never treat the teachers like that.

“Plus, all the pupils higher up in the school have started to get stressed out about exams,” Cosette added. “It’s finally hit them that in a couple of months everything will really kick off. It’s only a few weeks until the Easter holidays and then hardly any time until exams at all. I’ve taken to just eating my lunch in the classroom, there are always pupils dropping in and out with questions and wanting my help with homework. I’ve not been able to have a proper tea in _weeks,_ it’s been heart-breaking.” She fake-sobbed, and Éponine laughed at her, sympathy tinged with amusement and understanding. They were both very serious about hot drinks. “And I haven’t spoken to Musichetta in _ages,_ how is she?”

Éponine chuckled wryly. “She’s been the same,” she said, “especially with all the performing exams, although I think most of them are done now. She’s focusing on her seduction of Joly, but it’s really not working, still.” Cosette laughed. Éponine had confided in her about Joly and Musichetta, after swearing Cosette to secrecy. Cosette had been aware of something- Joly taught biology, and all the science departments shared a staff base, and so she knew Joly well and she had noticed Musichetta popping in all the time.

She’d thought they were just friends, though, until Éponine had explained Musichetta’s elaborate five part plan, which seemed to Cosette to be destined for failure. But then, she had no leg to stand on. The few times she had seen Musichetta recently, when she’d passed her in the corridor, or in the staff room, Musichetta had raised an eyebrow at her, seeming to insinuate more than Cosette was willing to share with the other woman. She didn’t know what Éponine had told her, and she wouldn’t ask, but she wished Chetta would be just a little more _direct,_ rather than just implying via eyebrow.

It just wasn’t very helpful.

“They didn’t even end up going out for drinks, that time, after all the faff and everything. Apparently ‘something came up’,” Éponine continued, making air quotes in the air and rolling her eyes. “Surely he likes her. Do you know if he does?”

Cosette shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. She really didn’t. She was terrible at determining whether or not people had crushes (obviously) and Joly was so nice to everyone that she really had no idea if he was any different with Musichetta. He did wear nicer ties now than he used to, but she really didn’t know if that was related or not.

Éponine sighed. “She just needs to _ask him out._ And then she’ll know for sure.”

Cosette bit back a smile. Éponine was giving advice that Cosette should take, as well. She drank some more of her coffee, instead.

They chatted about nothing while Cosette drank her coffee and Éponine counted stock behind the counter, and Cosette didn’t pluck up the nerve until she was packing her stuff up, ready to leave.

“Éponine?” she asked tentatively, and Éponine smiled up at her.

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to go for dinner with me one night this week?” Cosette looked straight at Éponine, resisting the urge to run away. Éponine looked a little blank, and Cosette barrelled on. She wasn’t chickening out this time. “I thought it would be nice for us to meet up while you’re not working. Only if you want to, of course!” she added hastily, when Éponine still hadn’t moved to respond. Cosette felt the panic start to build, and then, to her frantic relief, Éponine nodded.

“Yeah, that would be really nice,” she said slowly, still looking unsure, but with a small smile growing, and Cosette almost sagged over the counter, she was so relieved. They exchanged numbers, and chatted a little more, and it was all a blur to Cosette until she left, walking out of the coffee shop and along the pavement without really thinking, happiness flooding her veins. She had done it! She’d asked Éponine out, and Éponine had said _yes._

***

“I really don’t think it’s a date.” Éponine was rummaging through her wardrobe, trying to hide her anxiety as she looked for a suitable outfit. “I mean, if it was a date, she would have said, right? It’s not a date.”

“Sure,” Grantaire said sarcastically from where he was sprawled on her bed, looking at her with an unreadable expression. “You don’t think it’s a date, which is why you’re trying to find a perfect outfit, even though you’ve never once in the time I’ve known you taken longer than ten minutes to pick clothes out.”

“Fuck off,” Éponine hissed, angry because she knew he had a point and that was the worst thing about this. She’d said yes to Cosette’s invitation of dinner because she liked Cosette, because they were _friends,_ because it would be nice to talk somewhere that Éponine wasn’t employed, when Éponine wasn’t constantly being interrupted by customers and the both of them could sit down together.

And then Cosette had texted her, and they’d planned an evening dinner in a little Italian place that was slightly nicer than Éponine would have chosen herself, and Cosette had sent a heart emoji when she’d said she was looking forward to it, and that had sent Éponine spiralling.

“Do you _want_ it to be a date?” Grantaire asked, with his usual languid air and unerring and slightly freaky ability to ask exactly the question that Éponine didn’t want to answer or to even think about.

“Yes. No. Of course, I mean, I don’t know.” Éponine straightened up, a skirt she hadn’t worn in years crushed in her hand, wondering if Grantaire could see the desperation on her face. “I like her. More than I’ve liked anyone in years. I just. I don’t want to assume it’s more than it is and fuck up our friendship. What if she’s straight?” she could hear her voice increasing in volume, almost a _wail_ , and she tried to pull herself together.

Grantaire looked at her sympathetically. “With respect, Ép,” he began, and Éponine braced himself for what was definitely _not_ going to be respectful, “you need to get a grip.”

“Fuck off,” Éponine repeated, but even she could tell that her heart wasn’t in it. She turned back to her wardrobe and pulled out a blouse that was very similar to the plain black she usually wore, but a little more dressed up, with scalloped edges and a hint of purple thread running through the material, which felt silky and smooth and nice. As far as she could remember, it made her boobs look great, as well as showing slightly more skin than she tended to.

“Listen, Éponine,” Grantaire said, seriously, and Éponine looked at him, struck by the uncharacteristic tone of his voice. “She’s _nice_ , you said. Just ask her. If it’s a date, that’s good. If not, that’s fine too. Friends is better than nothing.” He made a face like he knew how sad that sounded, and Éponine smiled.

“For once in your life Grantaire, you might be right,” she admitted, and Grantaire laughed.

“It happens more often than you would think,” he drawled, slumping back across Éponine’s bed. “You should wear that blouse, it’s cute. And a nicer pair of your normal jeans. Have you got earrings or something?”

Éponine raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. “I don’t know lesbian courtship rituals. Should you wear earrings? Should you paint your nails? Should you _trim_ your nails?” Éponine let out an involuntary startled laugh, and Grantaire beamed, pleased with himself.

“It’s not a date,” she said quietly, as she looked at herself in the mirror, but her eyes were bright. God, she really hoped it was.

***

By the time Thursday rolled around, Cosette was almost vibrating out of her skin with excitement. They’d picked Thursday because Éponine wasn’t opening the coffee shop on Friday-she didn’t need to get up at five o’clock the next morning. Cosette had suggested an intimate, romantic Italian place that did spectacular pizza, and Éponine had agreed, and Cosette got there fifteen minutes early and was shown to her seat, a little round table squished at the very back in a corner.

She sat there, shredding the edge of her napkin, and tried to pretend she wasn’t relieved when Éponine arrived, seven minutes early (not that Cosette was checking her watch.) She sat down net to Cosette with a smile that was gorgeous and smaller than usual and slightly worried, taking off her jacket and hanging it over the back of her chair.

Cosette almost swallowed her tongue. Obviously she _knew_ Éponine was beautiful, had noticed it the second the woman had sat down at her table at that first parents’ night, and had been aware of it every single time she’d seen her since then, even with coffee grounds on her face and steamed milk spatters in her hair, but _this…_ Cosette had only seen Éponine in relatively unflattering work t-shirts, and now, she practically had to drag her eyes away from Éponine’s cleavage to look her in the eye. She felt like a character from a period drama, hyperventilating at the slightest hint of boobs.

Looking Éponine in the eyes wasn’t much better. She looked uncertain, and happy, and there was a hint of something else, and _fuck_ , Cosette liked her so goddamn much. She cleared her throat. Had she even said hello yet?

She did so.

“You’ve already said that,” Éponine said with a tiny smirk, and Cosette felt the blush spread up her cheeks. She was honestly astonished she wasn’t scarlet by now. She certainly felt it.

They shared some inane conversation of which Cosette remembered nothing, desperately hoping she hadn’t said anything truly embarrassing, while they ordered their meals and drinks. Cosette ordered herself one glass of wine, and when it arrived it was a huge glass and she took a gulp of it immediately. Why was she so nervous? This was _Éponine_ , her friend. She needed to pull it together.

***

Cosette looked incredible. That was Éponine’s first thought as she walked into the restaurant, and she’d almost turned right around and left again. She was wearing a red top, bright against her pale skin, and red lipstick (had Éponine ever seen Cosette wear lipstick before?) And when Éponine got closer, she could see the shimmer across Cosette’s eyelids, and felt suddenly self-conscious. She had compromised with Grantaire, who’d wanted to do a full face of make-up (he had very odd skills) and was wearing mascara and lip gloss, but suddenly she wished she’d worn more, looking at Cosette’s beautiful face.

But Cosette’s smile and stare when Éponine had sat down had made her feel lovely, and made her feel like maybe this was a date. And as they chatted, and Cosette’s red painted lips shaped around words that somehow seemed _more_ than the conversations they’d had before, Éponine realised more and more that she absolutely one hundred percent _wanted_ this to be a date.

And more than that, she wanted it to be the first date of many. She was shocked to find herself thinking, as she sipped her wine and their pizza arrived, that she wanted Cosette to be her _girlfriend._ All her usual objections to serious relationships seemed so unimportant in the face of Cosette’s smile.

She didn’t have time to date? Well, she and Cosette seemed to be managing very well as friends- Éponine saw Cosette more than she saw Musichetta, these days. What would Gavroche think? Gav loved Cosette, she was one of his favourite teachers, and he’d seemed genuinely surprised and fairly happy when he’d seen her leaving the house tonight instead of curling up on the sofa. And Cosette knew about Gavroche, and knew that he would always come first, and she’d met Grantaire in passing a couple of times, and all of the bricks in Éponine’s well-crafted wall of excuses were tumbling down every time her gaze met Cosette’s, sparkling in the light of the candle which was making the whole experience that much more intimate.

***

Cosette had had a fantastic time. After her initial flustered reaction to Éponine showing up looking like a fucking _supermodel_ , she’d settled into the conversation, periodically reminding herself that it was just _Éponine,_ and that even though her lips were shiny with gloss and her top was beautiful, it was the same woman that she’d flicked water over after a heated debate about Pride and Prejudice.

So they talked and laughed and Cosette very carefully made sure she didn’t drink more than one glass of wine, and Éponine teased her for being a lightweight and Cosette watched her lips curl into a smile much wider and much more real than her customer-service-smile, and thought about leaning across the table to kiss her right there.

But the candle in the middle of the table stopped her. It wasn’t romantic to get set on fire. Besides, they had time.

They passed on dessert, full from the pizza, and split the bill, standing up and gathering their things, and as they stepped out into the dark of the evening, exclaiming over how quickly the light had faded, Cosette realised that she _didn’t_ have time. And that she still wanted to kiss Éponine.

They walked along, Cosette so aware of Éponine’s hand swinging so close to hers. How easy it would be to just reach across and hold her hand, pull her close, kiss her…

And then Éponine stopped suddenly. “My train station is this way,” she said, quietly, gesturing away, and the air between them felt charged. Éponine was only an inch or two taller than Cosette, but it felt insurmountable, the distance between them, as Cosette looked up at Éponine, the yellow of the street lights reflecting in her eyes.

“I had a lovely time,” Cosette breathed, and stepped slightly closer. Éponine didn’t move, although there was a glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes. And then Cosette threw caution to the winds, pushed up slightly on her toes, and kissed Éponine full on the mouth.

She tasted of red wine and her lips were soft and they parted under Cosette’s, and Cosette’s hands came up to rest on Éponine’s hips, and then Éponine pulled away.

Cosette blinked at her, hands falling to hang uselessly by her side. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I-”

“No, it’s fine-” Éponine said, cutting Cosette off and then stopping speaking abruptly, and she looked _wrecked_ , as if they’d been kissing for hours, her lip gloss smeared and her eyes wide and dazed. “I didn’t… I mean…”

“I’m sorry, I should have asked, I must have misread it-”

“No, Cosette, wait,” Éponine said firmly, and Cosette’s mouth snapped shut, at the look of determination on Éponine’s face. “I thought… I wasn’t sure if this was a date.” Cosette opened her mouth to protest, but Éponine reached out to grab her hand, and Cosette’s words stalled in her throat. “I wanted it to be, though,” she said softly, and she tugged on Cosette’s hand. Cosette stumbled forward, her body pressing against Éponine’s, Éponine’s warm breath on her face. “Can I kiss you? Properly, this time?”

_“Yes_ ,” Cosette said emphatically, and then this time they met in the middle, kissing on the pavement in the dull twilight under the yellow streetlights, and this time, it was perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/holIyshort) \- come and say hi!


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